


Starsky and Hutch vs the World

by Garonne



Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 14:46:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 31,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7536919
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Garonne/pseuds/Garonne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first time they noticed that spark between them, they were still at the Academy. A decade later, they finally talk about it. And that's just the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starsky and Hutch vs the World

**Author's Note:**

> I started this story back in 2014, and finally finished it as part of the WIP Big Bang.
> 
> An enormous thank you to Dawnwind for beta-reading!
> 
> You can find alobear's lovely cover illustration here:

.. .. ..

_Chapter 1_

Starsky watched Hutch finish off the last few fries. Hutch licked his fingers instead of wiping them on a napkin, and Starsky grinned at the thought that Hutch was already drunk enough to do that.

They hadn't started drinking until arriving here at the Pits, after an evening at the movies. Just the two of them, no double date for distraction this time. Starsky had had a couple of beers, and Hutch had kept pace with him. They weren't really drunk, mostly because of the burger and fries they'd shared. Starsky was starting to feel mellow, and Hutch was looking more relaxed than he'd been in a long while.

"I got ketchup on my face or something?" he said, looking up and catching Starsky staring at him.

Starsky didn't try to make an excuse or laugh it off, the way he normally would have. Tonight felt different -- like a night for pushing the boundaries. So he went right on staring in open appreciation, until Hutch's face spread into a smile, part challenge and part bashfulness. Starsky's heart beat a little faster. He grinned back and downed his drink.

They had something special to celebrate tonight: the end of Starsky's first week back on the streets after eight long months of convalescence. The week had been a huge success, and Hutch was happy as a dog with two tails and not bothering to hide it. Starsky was pretty pleased himself, but right now he was mostly enjoying watching Hutch laughing and kidding around, turning that hundred-watt smile on everyone they came into contact with. Mostly on Starsky. He couldn't seem to keep his hands off Starsky either, constantly patting and poking and gently punching him in a way that gave Starsky a warm glow of excitement in the pit of his stomach.

Starsky wanted the evening to go on and on, but the Pits wasn't the place for it. Hutch seemed to be thinking along the same lines, because he pushed back his chair and reached for his wallet. 

"Want to move on?" he said.

"Sure."

"Where?"

Starsky turned his head to take a good look at Hutch. He could feel the sudden, pleasant surge of tension in the air, and he was sure Hutch could feel it too, from the way his eyes had darkened.

Starsky had a feeling he and Hutch were on the same wavelength tonight. He decided to take a chance, one that he'd never dared take before. The night felt right for it. He was buzzed. They both were, after a week back on the streets together. And he'd had just enough to drink to make him less inhibited.

"Malone's," he said. As soon as he saw Hutch's face he knew he'd been right.

Malone's wasn't somewhere they usually went to on a night out together. It wasn't a place for having a beer with your best friend, or dancing and picking up girls. It was a place for sitting tucked away in an intimate corner booth with a girl you'd already met. 

They had another few drinks each at Malone's -- Starsky wasn't counting any more -- and he sat right up on top of Hutch in their cozy little booth. Hutch laid a hand on his thigh and left it there.

By the time they took a taxi back to Hutch's place, Starsky was ready to go -- God, he was ready. He didn't jump Hutch as soon as the door was closed behind them, though. Mostly because Hutch was on his knees, rooting around for the keys he'd dropped.

"You're a klutz when you're drunk," Starsky said.

"Not drunk," Hutch muttered, though the way he was scrabbling around on the floor said otherwise.

"You got a nice ass," Starsky added, prompted by the excellent view of it he was getting. He was drunk enough that he didn't feel like an idiot saying it.

Hutch muttered something about beer in the fridge, but Starsky didn't make it there. He collapsed on the couch instead.

"Hutch?" he called, his eyes closed. "You coming over here or what?"

When he opened his eyes, he was surprised to find Hutch much closer than he'd thought, standing over him. His face was a little flushed, and his gaze was fixed on Starsky. He looked a tiny bit scared, but mostly he seemed to be thinking Starsky was the best thing in the world right now.

Starsky felt a sudden rush of adrenaline. His heart was thumping like he'd just run a mile uphill. He took a deep breath and looked straight up at Hutch.

"So, we gonna do this?"

"What?" 

"Come on, don't give me that. You know what."

Hutch dropped onto the sofa beside him and let his head fall onto Starsky's shoulder.

"You're wasted," he said.

Starsky bristled at that.

"What, and you're not?"

Hutch straightened up. For a second, Starsky was afraid he was going to chicken out and pull away. But no, he reached out and took hold of Starsky's chin to turn his face towards him.

"Your eyelids are drooping," he said, sounding surprisingly lucid. "Your cheeks are flushed. Speech is slurred, pupils respond slowly to light..."

"Gonna ask me to stand on one leg and say the alphabet next, officer?" 

Hutch chuckled.

"No, I don't think so," he said thoughtfully, eyes still on Starsky's.

He was leaning much closer now, and when did that happen? Starsky could feel his partner's fingers digging into his chin. Hutch was a couple of inches away, his eyes wide, looking not quite sure of himself. 

Starsky thought, what the hell, and closed the gap.

Hutch's mouth opened almost as soon as their lips met. He tasted of beer, mostly, but Starsky didn't care. He was trying to swallow Hutch whole, and Hutch seemed just fine with that. His hands had ended up in Starsky's hair, and he was pulling Starsky even closer.

Starsky had always known kissing Hutch for the first time would be good, but this was overwhelming. Starsky barely had enough space in his brain left to register the way they were tangled together awkwardly on the couch, Hutch's knee digging into his thigh. He didn't care. Hutch's hands were all over him, and he couldn't get enough of Hutch's mouth.

Finally they drew back for a second, gasping for breath. Hutch's face was flushed, and his breath was coming as fast as Starsky's. Starsky's lungs felt like they were about to burst.

"God, feels like I've been waiting forever for this," he gasped.

"Yeah," Hutch whispered, pulling him in again. "Me too, babe."

Starsky didn't remember an awful lot after that.

.. .. ..

He woke. His head hurt like crazy. He couldn't figure out why he had such a pain in his neck, never mind his head, and what he was doing lying at this damn uncomfortable angle. He opened his eyes and saw Hutch's ceiling. It all came back. Hutch's couch. Getting tanked last night. Hutch more wasted than he'd seen him in a long time. Collapsing on the couch, making out on the couch. And then -- he looked down at himself. He still seemed to be fully clothed, and his first thought was: Aw, hell.

"Alka-seltzer?" Hutch's voice came from somewhere behind him.

Starsky groaned and put a hand to his head. Hutch appeared in his line of sight, carrying a glass of fizzy water. He set it down carefully on the low table in front of Starsky, and took the armchair. He didn't look too good himself -- he looked like his head was aching to match Starsky's and like he'd slept in his clothes.

And that was just the problem. He wasn't supposed to end up sleeping in his clothes.

Starsky shot him a wordless look of thanks and downed the Alka-seltzer.

"So, uh, I guess we didn't -- " He gestured vaguely between them.

Hutch's eyes widened in surprise. Maybe he'd been expecting Starsky to pretend nothing had happened. For a moment there Starsky thought he was going to say 'we didn't what?' but he just said:

"Guess not. What's the last thing you remember?"

Starsky scrubbed at his head.

"You slumping into my lap and starting to snore, I think."

Hutch didn't seem to know whether to laugh or groan. 

Starsky knew. He groaned. "God, we were wasted."

Hutch didn't say anything. He was looking at the floor, but Starsky could see enough of his face to know he wasn't happy. 

Starsky let his head fall back onto the back of the couch. It felt weird to be actually talking about this thing between them, for the first time in years. Even weirder to have done something about it last night, or tried to.

"Well, uh, guess it was probably for the best, right?"

Hutch got to his feet in one sharp movement.

"Right," he said.

He disappeared into the bedroom alcove, leaving Starsky staring after him.

"You can have the shower first, if you want," Hutch shouted back into the sitting room.

He didn't reappear. After a minute Starsky got to his feet too. God, his head was a mess, and not just because of the hangover.

Twenty minutes later, showered and wearing some of the clean clothes he kept here, Starsky was starting to wonder if he ought to just head off. Slip away quietly, give them both space to breathe and maybe pretend to forget. Hutch appeared in the doorway, toweling his hair. In addition to his pants he'd already pulled on a t-shirt before coming out of the bathroom, something he never normally would have done.

"Thanks for the toast," Starsky said. He'd found it when he got out of the shower.

Hutch nodded.

"So, you still up for bowling this afternoon?" Starsky added. 

Hutch gave him an odd look.

"Yeah, sure," he said.

"Hutch?"

"What?"

Starsky didn't know how to say what he wanted, or even what he wanted to say. Better to say nothing at all.

"Let's meet at five, all right?"

Usually he would have suggested that he give Susan and Deborah a call, or Pamela, or Karen, or any of the other girls they knew. But he didn't. He waited to see if Hutch would say anything.

Hutch just disappeared into the bedroom alcove again. He emerged a minute later carrying his gym bag.

"Ready to go?"

After a long and silent ride, Starsky climbed out of Hutch's car at the Pits, where he'd left the Torino the night before.

Hutch drove off in the direction of the gym, and it was only then that it really hit Starsky. He'd kissed Hutch last night.

He sat there in the front seat of the Torino, and even if part of him knew they'd been idiots, part of him couldn't help thinking he didn't regret a minute of it.

.. .. ..

_Chapter 2_

Hutch emerged from the showers at the gym and dressed quickly. His muscles were aching after a long, grueling two hours sweating out his anger and frustration. Anger at himself, mostly, though at Starsky too.

He had seen it coming, felt attraction prickling in the air between them all day yesterday -- hell, all last week. Yet he hadn't done anything to stop it. Just let things happen. Part of him had been thinking God, yes, finally. He'd taken a good dose of alcohol to silence the other part.

But that other part of him had been the wisest, because it had known he'd be feeling worse this morning than in all the years of wanting and not having.

Years of him and Starsky pulling back, stopping just before things went too far. Dancing right up to the line and not over it. Stepping away and cooling off when things had heated up too much between them.

Sometimes he thought it was a good thing. Added spice to their partnership. And sometimes it hurt so much he could hardly bear it.

He wondered how Starsky was feeling this morning. Probably pretty much the same as he himself was. Hutch knew Starsky had been in synch with him about this thing over the years. He knew Starsky wanted him, and agreed that they'd be crazy ever to do anything about it.

Not that they'd ever discussed the subject. Talking about it this morning, even obliquely, had been weird. But that spark had been there between them almost from the very start. 

The first time, they weren't even cops yet. They were still at the academy. Hutch had gone round to the crummy waterfront apartment that was all Starsky could afford on his training salary. They'd been kidding around, mock-wrestling. The apartment was so small that the bed was right in the middle, so that's where they ended up. Hutch remembered finding himself flat on his back with Starsky straddling him, his hands on Hutch's shoulders, knees on either side of Hutch's hips. They both froze. Hutch knew, then --- he could read it in Starsky's eyes. He knew Starsky was feeling the same thing he was, the same tight, expectant sensation in his chest, the same heat in his groin. For one, long, frozen moment Hutch thought Starsky was going to lean down and kiss him.

But then Starsky's face twisted into a wry little grin, and he rolled off Hutch to sit on the side of the bed. He was facing away from Hutch now, his back bent, still breathing heavily. 

Hutch let out the breath he'd been holding in a long, slow sigh. He didn't know whether it was a sigh of disappointment or of relief. He didn't say anything, and neither did Starsky. 

Hutch had been half afraid Starsky would back off completely after that, find other less dangerous friends, and nip this new friendship with Hutch in the bud. Hell, Hutch had half thought he should maybe do the same thing himself. But the next day Starsky was sitting beside him in Patrol Procedures as usual, stealing his donuts and acting the same as always.

That had been the start of ten years of living strictly on one side of the line they'd drawn.

Sometimes Hutch wanted to cross that line so bad his heart ached, but he knew just as well as Starsky that would be a bad idea. Last night had only confirmed that. Over the years things had been pretty calm between them, only simmering up on rare occasions, and they could deal with that. Hutch had gotten married and then divorced. Starsky had met a few girls he actually seriously starting talking about marriage and kids with: Helen, and later Terri. Tragedy had intervened on both occasions, but Hutch knew that was still what Starsky saw in his future. As did Hutch, if in a much cloudier, vaguer way.

So when, from time to time, that tiny spark between them flared up, they could handle it just fine. The key had been reminding themselves how good what they already had was. That, and not actually knowing what they were missing out on. Last night had put paid to that.

Not that the evening had been anything spectacular, he thought bitterly. If they had to get so drunk to work up the courage to do it that they couldn't actually perform anyway, well -- 

Hutch threw his belongings in his gym bag and headed for his car.

The way things had heated up between them this week had taken him by surprise. After all, they'd spent years on the edge of the cliff without going over. But this time, they'd had the buzz of being back on the streets again after eight months of wondering whether they'd ever have that again. Eight months in which it felt like they'd hardly seen each other. 

As soon as Hutch had been obliged to return to work after the shooting, it had hit him just how long and irregular the hours they worked were. They'd usually managed to have dinner together a few times a week, at least. Lunch too sometimes, no matter how much that pissed off Hutch's various temporary partners. And even if Hutch was dropping off to sleep right after dinner after a twelve-hour shift, or Starsky was exhausted after a particularly grueling physical therapy session, it was better than nothing. 

But not enough. Being separated so much of the time had been a change, almost a physical shock, after the way they'd lived in each other's pockets before the hit.

He had sometimes thought how much easier things would be if he simply moved in with Starsky. Then they wouldn't have to survive on a few evenings a week, not enough for starving men. He knew Starsky had been thinking the same thing, from a few jokes and comments that had slipped out of his mouth. But that would have been way, way over the line they'd drawn.

Though not as far over as last night had been.

Starsky was meeting him at five, which gave him time to do some grocery shopping and run his other Saturday errands on the way back from the gym. He had promised Starsky steak for dinner, and while now he wasn't sure whether Starsky would even be coming round any more, he went ahead and stopped by the butcher's counter anyway. 

After that he still had a couple of hours to kill, but he couldn't settle to anything. He was too much on edge, too full of anticipation for the evening ahead. He didn't know whether he was impatient or afraid to see Starsky again. He ended up giving his apartment a more thorough cleaning than it had had in over a year, throwing himself into the mindless work until it was time to leave.

When he got to the bowling alley, the Torino was already there. He pulled in alongside it. Inside, he soon spotted Starsky up at the counter handing over his street shoes. 

"Ready to get your ass whupped, buddy?" Starsky said in greeting, following it up with a punch to Hutch's shoulder. Just like that, Hutch could relax. Things were going to be just fine after all.

In the past they'd met quite a few pretty unattached ladies at the bowling alley, but that Saturday evening it was a write-off. On one side was a group of bikers. On the other, a family -- mom, pop and three kids. Hutch was oddly relieved. He didn't think he could deal with feeling obliged to flirt tonight, or with watching Starsky turn on the charm.

"Hungry?" he said towards the end of their second game.

Starsky paused in the act of picking up a ball, looking suddenly tense for the first time that evening. 

"Yeah, why?"

"Steak, remember?" 

Starsky hefted the ball into his hands and made for the lane, throwing a grin over his shoulder at Hutch.

"You think I'd let you forget?"

Back in Venice Place half an hour later, Hutch headed straight for the kitchen corner to get the steaks out of the fridge. He shoved a batch of frozen fries in the oven. When he turned around, Starsky was sprawled on the couch, flicking through channels on TV.

Without even thinking, Hutch crossed the room to throw himself down onto the couch beside his partner. He was almost to the couch when his brain caught up with the rest of him. Sitting pressed up against Starsky on the couch... Last time they'd been that close was about twenty hours ago, and they'd been jumping down each other's throats.

Starsky noticed the aborted movement. He looked up at Hutch, and their eyes met.

There was something sad and soft in Starsky's gaze.

"Don't change, Hutch," he said, and his voice was quiet.

Hutch grimaced and sat down, not quite as close to Starsky as he normally would have, but not far off, given the size of the couch. He took a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his forehead in a gesture of frustration.

"Why did we even do that last night, Starsk? There's a reason we've never -- "

"I know that," Starsky said, sounding annoyed. "There are loads of reasons. You don't have to tell me that."

Hutch thought about the reasons. Because it wasn't worth the risk of maybe losing their partnership. Because they already had each other, and sex was something they could get anywhere. Because they'd be risking everything they had, when they already had everything they wanted. Or pretty much everything.

"Hey," Starsky said, reaching out to nudge Hutch's shoulder. "This isn't going to change anything. We won't let it. Right?"

Hutch turned to face him. Starsky was looking at him earnestly, his expression a mixture of hope and determination. He was close enough that Hutch could see the specks in his eyes. If he just leaned forward a foot or so they'd be kissing.

He let out a long sigh.

"I can't believe we're actually talking about this."

Starsky gave him a tiny wry grin.

"Hard to avoid, isn't it? It's the elephant in the closet."

"In the room, Starsky. Skeletons are in the closet."

"Maybe I shouldn't be talking about closets anyway, huh?"

Hutch stared, taken aback. Talking about closets and being in them was pretty damn close to the word 'gay'. It wasn't something he actually thought about much in relation to himself, and he'd sure as hell never expected Starsky to bring it up.

Starsky was still giving him that earnest look.

"We can do this, Hutch. Been doing it for years, haven't we?"

Hutch looked down. Starsky's leg was just inches away from his. He made himself reach out and touch it. As soon as he laid a hand on that denim-covered thigh, he was glad he had done so. The simple touch reassured him, the familiar warmth of Starsky's leg under his palm. It reassured him that they hadn't lost this simple connection, hadn't spoiled it.

"Yeah," he said softly. "Yeah, we can."

Starsky leaned in to rest his shoulder against Hutch's, and they sat there in comfortable silence. 

After a bit Hutch got up and went to get silverware to lay the table.

"You want a beer?"

Starsky shook his head.

Hutch felt a sudden surge of anger, not at Starsky but in general. _What, we're not ever going to get drunk together again now? Even drink?_ But he didn't particularly feel like a beer either. He got two cans of soda out of the fridge and put them on the table with the plates and cutlery. 

Over dinner they talked about Hutch's upcoming court testimony on Monday, about whether they might try and get tickets to the Lakers vs Kings game, about whether Starsky really needed or would even use that wristwatch calculator he'd seen advertised in the Times. It was just like any night, and Hutch found he was finally relaxing again.

Later, since Starsky hadn't cooked, he washed the dishes. 

Hutch stopped in the middle of drying a plate and said abruptly, "Starsky?"

"Yeah?" Starsky said without turning round from the sink.

"You are a good kisser."

Starsky turned then, and grinned at him.

"You bet, babe."

.. .. ..

Three weeks later they went out dancing with Debra and Hannah. Debra had been a witness to a jewelry shop burglary they'd picked up that week. Hannah was a friend Debra had produced out of thin air as soon as Starsky turned on the charm and started talking double-dating.

They went to El Dorado. Hutch drank beer in Starsky's presence for the first time in three weeks. Starsky drank too, and he was all over Debra on the dance floor. Hutch didn't watch; he was too busy romancing Hannah. She was small and blond, with large grey-blue eyes and a night-club singer's voice. She wasn't what Hutch wanted, but she was what he should want right now, and she was clearly game to be wanted. Hutch wasn't surprised when all four of them ended up at his place after they left the club.

Starsky's date Debra dropped onto the couch with a sigh, slipping off her shoes.

"I broke life's most basic rule tonight," she announced to the room at large. "Never, ever go dancing in new shoes."

"Can I get you ladies anything?" Starsky asked, heading for Hutch's fridge.

"Just a glass of water, please," Debra said.

Hannah came up to Hutch and slipped her arm into his.

"I love your plants," she said. "It's like a jungle in here."

"If you think that, you should see the patio," Hutch said. "Come on, come take a look."

Outside, the cool night air ruffled Hutch's hair. Hannah's perfume wafted past his nose, mingled with her own warm, pleasant scent. She stepped closer to him, turning her face up to be kissed.

Her lips were soft, and so was her touch as she stroked her hands across his shoulders. Hutch put his arms around her, enjoying the gentle curve of her waist and hips under his fingers.

They stayed like that for some time, kissing slowly. Hutch had been afraid neither his heart nor his body would be willing, but Hannah was soft and warm in arms. She knew exactly what she wanted, an uncomplicated good time, and Hutch was very happy to give it to her.

A cool March breeze swept across the patio, and Hannah gave a mock shiver, snuggling closer to Hutch. 

"Want to go back in?" she suggested.

In the living room, Starsky was tangled up with Debra on the sofa. They hadn't even gotten as far as unfolding the sofa-bed yet. They seemed pretty occupied.

Hannah giggled under her breath.

"Let's not disturb them," she whispered. "Let's go straight to bed."

Hutch gave her another kiss in answer and took her hand, pulling her into the bedroom.

.. .. ..

Afterwards, they lay in bed, Hannah snuggled up to him, her head on his chest. Hutch could hear Starsky and Debra still clearly taking their time about things in the other room. He couldn't block out the sounds, but he found that didn't matter. It didn't hurt any more than it always had -- just a niggling stab of jealousy that he could easily smother.

He relaxed. This was going to work out all right after all.

The girls said goodbye the next morning after breakfast with kisses and smiles, and promises to meet up again someday for another night out. Hutch shut the door behind them, and turned to find Starsky beaming at him through a mouthful of toast.

"Nice ladies, huh?" he said.

"Yeah," Hutch said, sitting down opposite him. "Great night." He reached out and took Starsky's last piece of toast. "Wanna go play tennis this afternoon?"

Starsky shook his head. "No, basketball."

"You're just afraid you'll lose at tennis again this week."

Starsky didn't rise to the bait.

"We'll see who's boss this afternoon, that's all I'm saying," he said, getting to his feet. "In fact, I'm gonna start now and bags the shower first."

.. .. ..

In the next two months they closed four cases, got roped into a drugs bust stakeout, and appeared three times in court. Hutch bought a Gerbera daisy plant, and Starsky had to suffer a long lecture about its oxygen-producing and air-cleaning qualities. Starsky bought a new tennis racket. He embarked on a winning streak that lasted until Hutch got fed up and refused to play tennis any more.

Starsky hooked up with a girl from the DA's office named Barbara, a cheerful redhead with a passion for golf. He went out with her for the entire month of March. Hutch watched with detachment, not sure how he felt or how he wanted to feel. He dated a little too. There was a friend of Barbara's named Judith, a girl from his tennis club, and a nurse from the time Starsky got knocked over the head by a drunk with a wine bottle.

Huggy's birthday was April 5th. Starsky and Hutch took him out to a place of his choosing: the new disco club on Rockall Avenue, which he'd been talking about for weeks. They had a great night, the three of them, and Huggy wore his birthday present sea-green tie for a week afterwards, teaming it with every other color under the rainbow.

By then, Starsky had been back on the force three months, and Hutch was starting to think that drunken night had been forgotten, until he got a tiny little nick in his leg, and everything changed.

The week started out innocuously enough. On Monday morning they busted a pair of penny-ante shoplifters with a tendency to turn violent when things didn't go according to their plans. Then they had lunch at a seafood joint of Starsky's choosing, but by the time they got back to the station he was already trying to wheedle a dime out of Hutch for a candy bar.

Hutch cracked, but they had to wait in line at the candy machine behind Riviera and Morrison. Morrison was sorting through a huge pile of change and looked like he was going to be blocking the machine for the next couple of minutes.

"... yeah, because we have to cover Wallander's beat too, remember?" Riviera was saying just as Starsky and Hutch came up behind them.

Hutch knew Wallander was on suspension, but he hadn't heard why. Beside him, he could feel Starsky starting to get impatient.

"Frigging faggot," Morrison said.

For a second, Hutch thought he was talking to the candy machine. 

Then Riviera added, "Stupid, too. What did he think was gonna happen if he hung around the Top Hat?" and everything clicked into place for Hutch.

The Top Hat was the gay bar that had been busted last week -- and Wallander had been busted too, apparently. Hutch hardly knew Wallander, but he could picture a young man with freckles, only just out of uniform.

He didn't want to turn and look at Starsky. Starsky still wasn't saying anything, but Hutch could feel his partner was as tense as he himself was. He began to wish they'd gone straight into the squadroom.

"Got a dime, Hutch? Starsky?" Riviera asked, turning round. It seemed he'd finally gotten impatient with Morrison's antics.

Hutch jumped. "Uh, yeah, sure."

He handed it over. Riviera and Morrison walked away, still grousing about their assignment. Hutch dug into his pocket for another dime, and then got a couple of candy bars from the machine, still without meeting Starsky's eyes.

He and Starsky had barely walked into the squadroom when Dobey waylaid them.

"Dead body out near Eagle Canyon," he announced.

Hutch frowned. "That's way outside our beat."

"Maybe so, but there's a trail of information that leads right back into this precinct, and Soledo County PD want someone to liaise with them. So go out and see them -- and be nice! No playing the city slicker, and lording it over them."

"We wouldn't, Cap'n!" Starsky protested.

That was the start of eight days of twelve-hour shifts spent in one of the city's hottest districts, and eight nights where they were too tired to do anything but eat and sleep. They'd quickly identified the murderer as a man named Bill Bokamoley, but getting their hands on him proved anything but easy. He seemed to move like a whirlwind through the city, leaving a trail of violent assault behind him.

The hard work finally paid off. On the eighth day, Starsky and Hutch tracked Bokamoley down to a disused fish cannery near the waterfront. He'd been working alone, and he was largely outnumbered by the cops surrounding the building, but he seemed determined to go down fighting. He'd chosen his hideaway well, a position on the roof that was almost as defensible as a fortress. Before he was finally arrested, the cops got drawn into a shootout that left Hutch on crutches. The bullet had only grazed his thigh, but it made him temporarily clumsy, practically one-legged.

"Okay, you're coming to stay with me," Starsky announced as soon as Hutch was released from the hospital. "Less stairs."

"You still have steps, Hutch muttered, but it was only a token protest. He had been more or less expecting Starsky to offer. He could hardly see himself getting up the stairs to his apartment alone, never mind with groceries.

Hutch let Starsky help him up the front steps and onto the couch. Starsky brought him a beer -- they'd long since started drinking together again -- and then threw together a quick dinner. Hutch drew the line when Starsky started the dishes, though. Normally that should have been Hutch's job, since Starsky'd cooked.

"Leave that till tomorrow," Hutch said, knowing that Starsky must be as exhausted as he was, even if he hadn't lost any blood today. It was less than four months since he'd gone back out on the streets, and less than a year since the shooting. Even if he seemed completely fine, Hutch still worried.

Starsky paused in the act of squirting dish soap in the water, and frowned over his shoulder at Hutch.

"But -- "

"Come sit down, Starsky."

It was only eight-thirty, too early for bed. Starsky joined him on the sofa, and they found a movie that had just started: something with Harryhausen monsters.

Starsky had settled in pretty close to Hutch, and it felt good. Comfortable, and like they were closer than they'd been in the last few months. Not that things had been bad between them. They'd been almost perfect. Starsky was in excellent health, and the way he and Hutch worked together had come back just like magic. In fact, they were even better together than they had been in the months before the shooting. But the imaginary line they'd drawn seemed a whole lot more noticeable, now that they'd stepped over it once. It was harder to ignore the line's existence.

Hutch was only giving the movie half his attention. Starsky's arm was pressed up against his, and he could hear Starsky's gasps and exclamations right in his ear, at every twist and turn and new monster in the movie's plot. Hutch let his eyes droop closed and savored the thought that things were finally back to normal between them.

When he next opened his eyes, he discovered he'd dozed off and missed whatever convoluted series of events had brought the buxom heroine into the Cyclops' lair. He only had a vague recollection of a sleepy Starsky sliding down his shoulder to end up with his head in Hutch's lap. 

Starsky seemed fast asleep now. Hutch debated whether he could manage to get up and switch off the TV without disturbing him. The commercials came on, and a sudden burst of music woke Starsky anyway. Hutch could tell when Starsky realized where his head was lying from the way Starsky's whole body stiffened.

"What was that about not letting things change between us?" Hutch said softly.

Starsky twisted his neck so that he could look up at Hutch. His expression was somber, his mouth set in a thin line.

It was the first time in months they'd referred to that conversation they'd had, the morning after the night they'd crossed the line. Now it hung between them.

"Yeah," Starsky said finally, just as quietly. 

He looked back at the TV. For a moment Hutch was afraid he was going to roll right off and sit up, but he didn't. Starsky's muscles relaxed gradually until his head lay heavily in Hutch's lap. Hutch could see only his mop of curls. Hesitantly, he laid a hand on Starsky's head and gave his hair a quick, friendly rustle, wanting to prove to himself that they could do this. They could be as comfortable as they always had been.

"Okay, buddy?" he said.

Starsky gave a little grunt of contentment. But a few seconds later, he sat up suddenly.

"Your leg -- "

"It's fine. You weren't putting any pressure on it."

The movie was coming to an end. The hero was sharing a final passionate kiss with the heroine before they sailed off into the sunset together. The end credits started to roll up, and Starsky got up to switch off the TV.

After Starsky returned to the couch, he and Hutch sat in silence for a minute or two. Hutch closed his eyes, not wanting to move yet. It felt good to sit there, leaning up against Starsky's arm.

"Hutch?" Starsky said softly.

"Yeah?"

"You ever go to places like the Top Hat?"

Hutch couldn't help startling a little, thrown by the unexpected question.

"You'd know if I did," he said finally.

"I meant, ever? You know, when you were younger."

"When I was at college? Yeah, once or twice. Curiosity, I suppose."

"And?" prompted Starsky.

"And then I wanted to be a cop, and it seemed even less of a good idea than it had before."

"What was it like?"

"Starsky, you must have been in dozens of gay bars."

Starsky flinched, but pressed on. 

"Not the same when it's in the line of duty, is it?"

Hutch considered the question. He tried to answer as though Starsky had asked him to describe his high school football stadium or their gym.

"Just the same as any bar, I suppose. People drinking, people picking people up..."

"Yeah?"

"I didn't pick anyone up," he said in answer to Starsky's unasked question. "Or the other way round."

In the pause that followed, Hutch wondered what was going through Starsky's head. Was this conversation headed somewhere, or was he just floundering around in the dark like Hutch was? Probably the latter.

"I never even thought about it," Starsky said slowly.

"Never?" said Hutch. He could hear his skepticism coming through plainly in his voice. He knew damned well Starsky had been looking. At him, and even at a few other guys from time to time over the years. Looking in that not-actually-checking-out kind of way.

"About doing anything about it, I mean."

Now Hutch understood.

"No?" he said, this time genuinely curious.

It was weird to be talking about this. This thing that had lain undiscussed between them for years. That most of the time had been buried so deep that Hutch hadn't even thought about it.

Starsky shook his head vigorously.

"No. I mean, can you see me doing that? Bringing hustlers to sleazy hotels, hoodwinking everyone I know, even my own wife?"

Hutch knew who he was thinking of.

"It's not only like that, you know," Hutch said. "Some men -- I imagine some men must do things pretty differently. It's not all hustlers and rooms by the hour."

Starsky's eyes were serious now, his gaze fixed on Hutch.

"Men who fall in love?"

They were on dangerous ground here. Things weren't back to normal at all.

"Yeah," Hutch said slowly.

Could he really hear Starsky's heart beating, or was it just his imagination?

Starsky jumped to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you to bed. You're supposed to be lying with your leg stretched out, not on the sofa."

"I'm fine," Hutch protested, but the throb in his leg was back, and he realized he hadn't taken any painkillers since he was in the hospital.

Ten minutes later he was lying flat on his back in Starsky's bed, listening to Starsky move around in the other room, making up the couch.

Then Starsky appeared in the bedroom doorway.

"Got everything you need, buddy?"

"I'm not a cripple, Starsky."

Starsky just grinned back at him.

"'Night, Hutch."

"Yeah, good night."

Hutch was grateful for the painkillers making him drowsy. Otherwise he was sure he would have been awake all night, his brain turning over the conversation they'd just had.

Next morning was just like any other morning after Hutch had spent the night at Starsky's place. Starsky produced an almost-fresh grapefruit and then groused about the amount of time it took to juice it. Hutch unwisely suggested that the time to prepare breakfast was probably related to how good it was for you, and got a detailed run down of just how many steps went into preparing Starsky's Sunday-special smoked bacon and ham omelette with hash browns.

"You're taking advantage," Hutch grumbled as Starsky helped him down the stairs, accompanying the descent with an account of just how he got his hash browns so nice and crispy. "If I could run I'd already be down in the car and not listening to this culinary disaster."

"Uh-uh, don't be rude, buddy," Starsky said. "If you're good, I'll make you some next weekend."

The nick in Hutch's leg had scuppered their plans to shake down a few streets in the heart of their beat. Instead, they spent the day at their desk. Hutch got through a whole stack of outstanding paperwork, and also spent rather more time than he intended to surreptitiously watching Starsky.

Things were quiet between them throughout the day, not awkward but a little distant. Almost like when one of them was sulking or pissed off, except that this time it wasn't the case at all.

After work Starsky drove straight to Hutch's place without even asking. Hutch figured he could probably handle the stairs just fine tonight, but he'd nevertheless been expecting they'd spend the night at Starsky's place again. Now, he didn't know how to ask what they were doing here instead, and what Starsky's plans were. What was Starsky thinking after their conversation last night? Maybe he just wanted to drop Hutch off and leave him here.

"Aren't you -- ?" Hutch began.

"Plants," said Starsky, already getting out of the car, and Hutch relaxed.

"They've survived more than two nights without me before," he pointed out, but he was grinning as he followed Starsky out of the car.

Once in Hutch's apartment, Starsky filled the watering can while Hutch checked what he had in the fridge. He got a tuna casserole in the oven by the time Starsky finished with the plants and started to set the table.

Hutch was standing in front of the sink, rinsing lettuce for a salad. Starsky came up behind him to get glasses from the cupboard above. He put his hand on Hutch's shoulder to steady himself as he stretched. The movement gave him a good view of what Hutch was doing with the head of lettuce.

"You planning to make us eat the whole thing?" Starsky said, sounding horrified.

Hutch laughed.

"You'll see, with a good dose of vinaigrette you won't even recognize it."

He reached up to pat Starsky's hand reassuringly, then left his hand in place, covering Starsky's. He could feel the warmth of Starsky's body behind his, pressed close against him. When he turned his head, Starsky was still looking at the lettuce with a dubious expression on his face. Hutch could feel the moment when things changed, when Starsky noticed their joined hands. Starsky raised his head, and his gaze met Hutch's.

A sudden wave of tenderness build up in Hutch's throat, threatening to bubble over, turning into love, longing, lust, everything. He touched Starsky's face, running his hand whisper-soft down Starsky's cheek.

Starsky's eyes were as round and wide as Hutch's own eyes must be.

"God, Hutch," he breathed.

He raised his free hand to Hutch's mouth, brushing his thumb along Hutch's lips. 

Hutch swallowed over the racing heart that was threatening to leap up into his mouth. He'd always thought that if this ever actually happened between them, it would be in the heart-pounding, adrenaline-fueled comedown after a dangerous case, a life-or-death situation.

Now Starsky's grip on his shoulder tightened, and he leaned forward to kiss Hutch on the lips, as natural as breathing.

Hutch let himself enjoy the kiss for one long, incredible moment. He closed his eyes and savored the soft, warm touch of Starsky's lips on his. Part of him just wanted to let this happen -- finally. Finally. Part of him was sounding danger alarms.

Before he could pull back, Starsky did.

They stared at each other. Starsky's lips were still parted. Hutch wanted to kiss him a second time.

Starsky put a hand to his temple, ran it roughly through his hair, looking as shell-shocked as Hutch felt.

"Shit," he said.

"Yeah," Hutch said quietly.

Starsky rubbed his head again.

"My God, Hutch, we -- " He stepped back and took a deep breath. "You, we -- " He came to a stop again, inhaling raggedly. "Hutch, you should be sitting down. Your leg -- "

"My leg is fine, Starsk." 

"Okay, right."

Hutch couldn't face the look in Starsky's eyes right now. He turned back to the head of lettuce he'd let fall into the sink, swallowing around the disappointment and frustration that was welling up in his throat.

Behind him, he could hear Starsky pacing back and forth in the narrow space behind the couch.

We went for ten years without giving in, Hutch thought. For ten years what we had was enough. But now what have we done? Opened the floodgates, that's what.

He heard Starsky's voice, sounding calmer now, and determined.

"I love you, Hutch."

Hutch spun round.

"Starsky, don't do this."

Starsky was looking stubborn.

"I want you."

"Starsky -- "

"I wanna say it," Starsky said, almost petulantly. He looked like he was about to punch someone, if only he had anyone to punch.

"I want you too, Starsk," Hutch said quietly.

Something flared in Starsky's eyes. He took a step forward, but then stopped.

"This could be so good, Hutch. We could be so good together."

Hutch held his breath. God, he was tempted. He put his hand down on the kitchen counter, needing the contact to steady himself. Starsky was staring at him. Hopeful, and more than a little challenging. Hutch was about to explode from frustration.

Starsky turned away first. He sank onto the couch and put his head between his hands.

"I can't do this any more, Hutch."

Hutch's throat constricted in fear. What the hell did Starsky mean?

Starsky raised his head. "I can't go on like this -- like the way we used to be."

Hutch took a step towards him, anger growing to match his fear.

"What's the matter? Three months ago you were sure we could do this. After that night we got drunk. We've been doing it for years, you said."

"Yeah, well, I was wrong."

Hutch pushed away from the sink and crossed the room abruptly to the patio door, away from Starsky.

"We could have this, Hutch," Starsky insisted. "I mean, last night, who would have known if I was in your bed instead of on the couch?"

_in your bed_. The words gave him a shot of heat... He pushed it down.

"Last night, yeah," he admitted, turning back to Starsky. "But what about the next time, and the next? Because I couldn't stop at just one time, Starsk."

"I know, babe."

"And what about when we suddenly stop dating women? I couldn't share you, Starsk."

"I don't like sharing you now," Starsky muttered.

"What about when the little jokes about us at work turn into big rumors? What about when the guys at work turn against us?"

"They wouldn't -- "

"Oh, like you haven't seen it happen before?"

Starsky had no answer for that.

Hutch shook his head sadly.

"What makes you think it would be different for us?"

"We'd be careful -- "

Starsky's voice trailed off.

Hutch stared at the Areca palm out on the patio.

"And what if -- " his voice was very low now. He'd come to his deepest fear. "What if it doesn't work out?"

He didn't go into all the details. What if it turns out that when you get right down to it, you can't stomach the things I want to do to you? Can't reconcile that with your own image of yourself? What if I surprise myself, and it turns out I can't? Or what if this spark we feel ends up burning out? What if we lose everything we have now?

He was very aware of Starsky just then, of Starsky's physical presence and the distance between them. Starsky was only the width of the room away, but it felt like light-years. All Hutch's wise words seemed hollow in the face of the knowledge that Starsky had the same ache he did.

He wanted desperately to cross the room and catch hold of Starsky, anything from a friendly pat to a desperate crushing embrace. But it felt impossible. Hutch was suddenly afraid they'd already destroyed what they'd had.

"It would be worth the risk," Starsky said, the persuasion in his voice tinged with anxiety now.

"I -- just let me think, Starsky. I just need to think about this."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw Starsky nod.

"Yeah, so do I."

Starsky said goodnight quietly and left. Hutch returned to the kitchen to switch off the oven. He didn't have the stomach for eating alone.

.. .. ..

Next morning Hutch drove himself to work, despite the throbbing pain in his leg whenever he pressed on the gas pedal. He met Starsky in the corridor outside the squadroom.

"Morning," Starsky grunted, holding out a bag of donuts. 

This was a scene they'd played out a thousand times before. But today there was something off about Starsky, something hesitant and distant. Hutch, likewise, couldn't bring himself to make his usual crack about Starsky eating donuts for breakfast.

Everything felt wrong, and Hutch came to a split-second decision.

"Okay," he said.

"What?"

"To what you said last night."

Starsky nearly dropped his bag of donuts. Hutch realized that the middle of the precinct was really not the place for this conversation. _You idiot, Hutchinson_ , he thought.

Starsky was staring at him.

"Why?" he demanded.

Hutch gestured between them.

"I think we've already broken what we had before, whether we -- go on to do anything else or not." He stepped out of the way of two officers escorting and handcuffed prisoner down the corridor. "Look, let's not talk about it here, okay?"

But Starsky was already talking over him. "Okay, great," he said in a rush. "It's a date."

With those flippant words he spun on his heel and disappeared into the squadroom.

Hutch followed him in. He sat down at the typewriter and spooled in a sheet of paper.

Starsky came and sat down opposite him, holding two cups of coffee. He was grinning now, as if he'd just gotten a new caboose for his train set.

Their eyes met, and it hit Hutch, what he'd just agreed to. A rush of excitement ran through him, and all of a sudden he couldn't keep an answering grin off his own face.

"Gonna be a long day," Starsky said.

They spent the morning typing up reports in the squadroom, and the afternoon in court. Hutch was almost grateful for the long hard grilling he got from the defense lawyer. It kept his mind off what they had planned for tonight.

.. .. ..

_Chapter 3_

That evening Starsky's chest was tight with anticipation as he pulled out of the station with Hutch's LTD close behind. He'd spent the day in a state of quiet tension, catching Hutch's eye at odd moments and having to look away again quickly to keep his impatience under control. While they'd been busy at work, it hadn't been too difficult to keep it buried under the surface of everyday routine. Now it was bubbling up and over.

He and Hutch stopped at a diner on the way for a quick meal of meatloaf and fries. For once Hutch didn't say a word about Starsky's choice of food. He just watched as if Starsky wasn't eating nearly as fast as he'd like.

"Ready to go?" he said as soon as Starsky'd swallowed his last fry.

Starsky felt like he'd explode already if Hutch brushed against him as they left the diner. Maybe Hutch was feeling the same thing, because he kept well back as they crossed the parking lot to their cars.

There was a convenience store just across the street from the diner, and Starsky remembered that he'd been planning to buy some stuff, back when he'd been expecting it to be a regular beer-and-pizza evening in with Hutch.

"I don't have any beer left," he said, but he didn't make any move to cross the street. He didn't have any milk for breakfast either, but he wasn't about to say that. Felt like he would jinx something, just saying out loud that he expected Hutch to still be around come morning.

"Never mind the beer," Hutch said.

Starsky knew what he was thinking. They were going to be sober this time.

The drive from the diner to Starsky's place was a little under ten minutes. Hutch was close on his heels as Starsky unlocked his front door. Starsky dropped his keys on the counter and shrugged off his jacket. When he turned round, Hutch was standing in the middle of the room, waiting.

Starsky's heart began to beat in double time. He was light-headed, almost dizzy, as he crossed the room in two quick strides. He raised his hands to Hutch's elbows, grasping lightly. Hutch took one step forward, and then they were kissing.

It was a thousand times better than Starsky's cloudy, beer-filled memories. A thousand times better than his guilty, half-formed dreams. Hutch's mouth was hard and eager on his, Hutch's hand hooked into his sweater, pulling him closer. Starsky was wound up like a spring, almost trembling. He was running his hands up and down Hutch's arms now, not sure whether he was caressing Hutch or steadying himself.

They pulled apart, breathing heavily. Hutch was as wild and wide-eyed as Starsky felt.

"God, Starsky," he said, his voice a breathy, half-strangled whisper. He sounded like he couldn't quite believe they were doing this either.

His gaze dropped to Starsky's crotch, and a sudden heat flared in his eyes. Starsky swallowed, knowing what came next.

"Can I -- " he said.

In answer, Hutch hooked two fingers into Starsky's waistband and jerked him close. His mouth found Starsky's again, and he slid his hand round and down to Starsky's ass.

For a few seconds they ground together, fast and desperate. But Starsky couldn't take the layers of cloth between them any longer. He fumbled for Hutch's zipper, his hands suddenly clumsy. He could feel Hutch's arms, tangling with his as they both reached for each other, and then Hutch's hand through his jeans, pressing down hard. 

Starsky nearly bit his tongue off. God, he was going to come standing up and still fully dressed.

"Couch," he gasped.

Hutch shook his head, and twisted his other hand in Starsky's shirt, pulling him close again.

"Too far," he whispered into Starsky's mouth. And Hutch was right, because they didn't make it to the couch in the end. They came in each other's arms, propped up against the wall and trembling.

For a moment they just stood there, a tangle of arms and legs, wobbly kneed and breathless, slumped against each other.

Then Hutch lifted his head from Starsky's shoulder and began to laugh.

"What?" said Starsky, though he was already laughing too.

Hutch just shook his head, and brushed a kiss against Starsky's jaw.

"Couch," Starsky said again, and this time Hutch followed.

They sprawled half on and half off the couch, limbs entangled, still half undressed and sticky. Starsky felt limp, languid and blissfully happy. He kept raising his head to look at Hutch. Every time, Hutch was grinning at him, and when their eyes met it set them off laughing again: breathy, disbelieving laughter.

Eventually, Hutch pulled himself up so that his legs stretched out along the sofa, his back against the sofa arm. Starsky swung his legs up too and settled in between Hutch's knees, slouching down to rest his head on Hutch's chest. He could feel Hutch's heart, its racing rhythm finally returning to normal.

Hutch slid his hands down Starsky's arms and then across his front. 

Starsky heard Hutch's voice, soft in his ear. "First time I laid eyes on you I wanted this. Didn't really know exactly what I wanted to do, but God, whatever it was I wanted it so bad."

Starsky let out a long, blissful sigh.

"Me too, babe. Me too." He wriggled until he could plant a kiss on Hutch's nearest patch of exposed skin, the inside of his elbow. "God, to think we could have been doing this for the past ten years."

"Yeah." Then Hutch turned serious. "Though I'm not sure we could have, actually, back then."

"No, I guess not."

He felt Hutch squeeze his arm, then give it a little shake.

"Hey, let's not dwell on the past." 

Or the future, he didn't say, but Starsky knew he was thinking it.

The same thoughts were hovering in the back of Starsky's mind, but he really didn't want to talk about this now. He just wanted to luxuriate in the feeling of Hutch's arms wrapped around him.

So he said, "Look, let's not talk about it just yet, okay? Come to bed?"

He felt Hutch nod, long hair brushing against the side of his neck. Then Hutch planted a long, slow kiss against his jawbone.

"Okay," he said, and Starsky knew it was in answer to both questions.

.. .. ..

Starsky woke with Hutch's arm flung across his chest. Hutch was drooling onto his right shoulder and snoring into his right ear. He'd always known Hutch was a snorer, but he'd never heard it from quite this close before. Funny how it suddenly seemed like the most musical sound in the world.

Starsky let out a long deep sigh and lay there basking in the feeling of pure happiness. He was warm and cozy, he was snuggled up in bed with Hutch, and they had the day off. The prospect of staying in bed till noon was pretty appealing.

Hutch stirred and opened his eyes. He stared up at Starsky for one second of incomprehension, just enough to give Starsky time to worry. Then his face relaxed, and he smiled sleepily.

"Awake before me?" he said. "There's one for the books."

"You better not be going out running this morning," Starsky said.

"Are you kidding?" Hutch laughed, fully awake now. He propped himself up on one elbow so that his face was just above Starsky's. "I can think of better ways to get my morning exercise."

Starsky's body was starting to pay attention to the way Hutch was lying over him, but he pretended to groan and hid his face. "Now I see it. This whole thing was just a ploy to get me to bow to your crazy exercise-before-breakfast scheme. Exercise before coffee, even."

Hutch moved until he was directly above Starsky, his hands on either side of Starsky's chest.

"Coffee? You're thinking about coffee? You seriously trying to tell me that what you want right now is to leave this bed?"

"Well..." 

Before he could come up with a smart response, Hutch had pounced.

"You're not going anywhere, buddy."

Hutch had him trapped, his limbs forming a cage around Starsky and holding him in. Starsky wasn't having any of it. He squirmed under Hutch, wiggling until he could get enough leverage to flip Hutch right over and end up on top. They wrestled, grappling with each other and rolling over and over until they came to a stop, breathing hard, all tangled up in the sheets and each other.

"God, we should have done this years ago," Hutch gasped.

Starsky responded by squirming close enough to press his mouth to Hutch's and give him the longest, slowest kiss he could. He waited until Hutch was relaxed and unsuspecting. Then pinched Hutch's butt, hard.

Hutch let out an undignified yelp and flipped up onto his hands, swearing revenge.

"Don't start it if you can't take it," Starsky said, quickly rolling out of reach of Hutch's out-stretched hand.

He couldn't get very far without going off the end of the bed. Anyway, it wasn't like he didn't want to be caught. He was hard, and more than ready to be caught, and to pull Hutch down on top of him, and --

That was when the phone on Starsky's bedside table rang. Hutch was nearest. He reached for it automatically and then stopped. His brow creased into a frown. He'd answered the phone early in the morning at Starsky's place plenty of times before, but somehow this was different.

Starsky grimaced and reached for the phone.

"Dobey," he mouthed at Hutch, while listening to the Captain telling him about a dead body in the office district.

He gestured to Hutch to come close enough to listen in on the conversation.

"I know it's your day off," Dobey was saying. "But I need you on this. Jackson and Brady called in sick late last night -- food poisoning, both of them. Ortega and Kovar are giving testimony in Sacramento, and everyone else is on the Limehouse case. I'll make it up to you."

"Uh-huh, I'll remember that," said Starsky.

"So get out there. And where's Hutch? He's not answering his phone."

"He's, uh -- "

He was reluctant to say 'he's here', even if it would be far from the first time he'd said that after Hutch spent the night on his couch.

Dobey misinterpreted his silence.

"If he's forgotten to give you the girl's phone number again, Starsky -- How many lectures about standard procedure do you two want to hear?"

"Hutch wouldn't do that, Cap'n," Starsky said.

"Good. Then get hold of him and get in here."

Starsky hung up and turned slowly back to Hutch. He could see Hutch's expression, knew what he was thinking. So this was it, the start of the lies and deception. The intrusion of the outside world into their tiny temporary two-person paradise.

Hutch was looking down at the bedcovers, his face set in tight, angry lines. Starsky reached out to touch his arm.

"Hey, it's for his own good, Hutch. We don't wanna put that kind of secret on his back."

"Yeah."

"Hey, come 'ere."

He nuzzled Hutch's jaw and neck until Hutch relaxed. He had to stop eventually, though, and get ready for work.

They went to the crime scene first, an office high in a building which housed insurance, accounting and law firms. Early-morning cleaning staff had discovered the body of the office's usual occupant. He'd been shot in the head and left slumped over his desk. His name was Geoffrey Matthews, twenty-six years old and fresh out of law school.

It was a Friday, and the building's foyer was full of accountants and actuaries anxious to know when they'd be allowed back into their offices. Hutch wielded them off while Starsky took the lift upstairs to the crime scene, where the medical examiner was just finishing up. It was Holloway, one of the city's longest-serving pathologists. Starsky had met him many times before.

"Got a time of death yet, doc?" Starsky asked.

Holloway looked up from the form he was signing. 

"Late last night some time. Let's say between nine and eleven." He handed the clipboard off to his assistant and starting packing up his things. 

"Working late," Starsky commented. "Maybe he was one of these high-powered lawyer types who never sleeps."

"Sounds familiar," Holloway said dryly. "Oh no, wait a minute, I'm thinking of the over-worked medical examiners who never sleep."

Hutch came back into the room just then and overheard him. "You're not the only one here who got an early phone-call this morning, doc," he said mildly.

"No, but I'm the only one who's been getting them since 1951." Holloway snapped his case shut and walked away, still grumbling to himself about the early hour.

Starsky turned to Hutch. "You got someone from uniform going through the building here?"

Hutch nodded.

"Okay, then let's head to the station," Starsky said. "See who we can track down from this guy's friends and family."

They spent the morning following up leads, and Starsky was relieved to find that they fell into their usual patterns of working, seamless and easy. Nothing had changed between them in that respect.

"What do you think?" Hutch asked when he and Starsky got back into the car after yet another fruitless interview with one of Matthews' firm's clients. "Professional or personal?"

"We've already seen half the people in his agenda for last week, and nobody's ringing any warning bells in my head." Starsky flipped through the heavy leather-bound day planner. "But his evenings were strangely empty, don't you think? Monday, tennis with his sister, and that's it? Good-looking young guy like him, barely out of school - surely he didn't just go straight home and go to bed each night, no matter how hard they were working him at the firm?"

"Until the sister gets back from London tomorrow, our best bet for info on his personal life is probably the doorman or super in his apartment block."

"Sounds like a plan," said Starsky, dumping the planner in Hutch's lap and putting the car in gear.

From the building superintendent they got the information that to his knowledge, Matthews had never brought a guest home in the year he'd been living there. Matthews himself went out a lot in the evenings, however, often returning close to midnight, or not until the following day.

After that Starsky and Hutch headed on upstairs and met the two officers who were going over Matthews' apartment: Mendez and Harris.

"The place looks barely lived in," Mendez said with a shrug. "Either he was incredibly neat and tidy or he never spent any time here."

"We'll give you a call if we find anything," Harris added, "but don't get your hopes up."

"Thanks, guys," Hutch said, before he and Starsky headed off to the next person in Matthews' agenda.

Starsky started making hungry noises around midday. About half an hour later, Hutch caved in and agreed to eat.

"You're only dragging your heels because it's my turn to choose the place," Starsky said. "Don't think I can't hear your stomach."

He shot a glance at Hutch out of the corner of his eye at a red light, and was triumphant to find Hutch looking sheepish.

"Didn't have enough time to eat much this morning," Hutch muttered.

"Didn't have enough time for anything we wanted this morning," Starsky said, reaching out to squeeze Hutch's knee.

He was rewarded with a speculative look and a hand on his.

"My place tonight?" Hutch suggested.

"So long as you're in it, partner."

They stopped into a diner on West Street for lunch. It took Starsky a little while to choose between the Red-Hot tamale pie and the Pork, Egg and Tomato sandwich, but the waitress seemed happy to hang around their table and help him decide. She was a tall, curvy blonde with legs all the way up, and a cute smile that seemed to be a permanent feature.

Starsky soon had her giggling and giving him sidelong looks. It was only when he turned to Hutch, intending to crack a joke about his 'health-food-eating partner here' that he realized just what he was doing.

Hutch was looking down at his own menu. Starsky couldn't see enough of his face to read his expression.

"Uh, I'll just have the cheeseburger and a coke," he said abruptly.

The waitress stared, cut off in mid-sentence.

"You sure?"

Starsky gave her one last smile, because he didn't want to be rude.

"That's it, thanks."

She took her cute smile and her scribble pad off to the kitchen. Starsky turned slowly to Hutch. His partner was watching him, his eyes sad instead of hurt or angry like Starsky'd expected.

"Uh, Hutch -- "

"It's okay," said Hutch. "Don't stop."

"What?"

"It's safer this way."

Starsky grimaced.

They sat in silence until the waitress returned with their drinks, and this time it was Hutch who gave her his charming smile.

Starsky didn't like it but he knew that was stupid. He hadn't minded before, and that was the whole plan, right? To go on just as before.

That night they headed back to Hutch's place. They were too tired to do anything but crash, asleep almost as soon as their heads hit the pillow. Starsky took just a second to savor the kick he got out of them both falling into the same bed without needing a word of discussion about it.

.. .. ..

_Chapter 4_

Hutch woke the next morning to the sound of Starsky breathing right into his ear. He moved his head cautiously to look at the clock on his bed-side table.

"...time is it?" Starsky muttered.

"It's okay. We still got another twenty minutes or so."

Starsky was on his front with his head buried in the pillow and one leg hooked over Hutch's. He didn't answer or move his head, but one arm snaked out to wrap around Hutch's chest and tug him closer. Hutch rolled to face him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

Starsky made a small, contented noise into his pillow. Hutch grinned to himself, drifting happily in the feeling of warmth and contentment.

After a few minutes, Starsky stirred again. His head turned slowly until he was facing Hutch, his eyes still blurry and sleepy. Hutch kissed him on the lips.

When he drew back, Starsky was smiling at him, still blinking sleepily.

"This is nice," he said.

"Yeah."

Starsky stretched luxuriously and then returned his arm to its resting place on Hutch's chest, snuggling up close.

"You know, I never really thought about -- "

He came to a stop. Hutch lifted his head to raise an eyebrow at his partner.

Starsky was looking a bit sheepish.

"Well, I was gonna say -- over the last few months, whenever I thought about -- us, you and me, it was always hot stuff. You know, sex. I didn't sit around fantasizing about just lying in bed half-asleep. But this is -- this is good."

"Yeah, it is," Hutch said in a heartfelt way. After a moment he lifted his head and saw his own thought reflected in Starsky's eyes. "What are we getting ourselves into, Starsk?"

"I don't know, but... let's not talk about it just now, okay?"

He reached out towards Hutch, and Hutch rolled into his arms, his mouth seeking Starsky's. That was when the phone rang.

Hutch groaned and answered. This morning it was Babcock from the night shift.

"Dead body in an office building on Madison. Same building your guy bought it in yesterday, but the office directly below, one floor down. Thought you and Starsky would want in on the crime scene."

Hutch groaned and scrubbed his eyes.

"What's the cause of death?"

"Bullet through the head from the doorway. Same as your guy, right?" Babcock broke off for a minute to talk to someone on his end, then came back to the phone. "I'm out there now. Still waiting for the ME -- he won't be happy about being dragged out of bed twice in two days."

"Have you already got an ID on the second victim?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah, uh..." Paper rustled in the background. "His name is Woodrow Alliston. Lawyer, killed in his own office." He paused. "Ok, got to go, the doc's here. See you in a bit."

He hung up.

Hutch turned to Starsky, who'd been pressed up beside him to listen in on the call.

"Some nutcase who's working his way through the building?" Hutch suggested.

"Or they got it wrong the first time, mixed up the floors, and then came back to finish the job."

"Uh-huh, I like it."

Hutch gave Starsky's arm a pat and a squeeze. Then he reluctantly kicked back the covers and got out of bed, followed by a groaning, grumbling Starsky.

On the way downtown, Starsky drove while Hutch went through the case file they'd put together so far. They'd run a routine check of the building's other occupants yesterday, and Hutch scanned the list now.

"What's the vic's name again? Woodrow..."

"Alliston," Starsky said.

"Yeah, here he is. It's the dodgy lawyer, remember?"

Woodrow Alliston was a lawyer with only a handful of clients on his books, all of them well known to BCPD, even if they hadn't spent as much as a day in jail between them. 

"Told you we should look into him," Starsky said smugly.

"Told you so, told you so," Hutch muttered. "Like I said yesterday, you turn any given downtown office building upside-down, and the odds are you'll shake out at least one crooked lawyer or accountant behind the building's fancy facade."

They reached Madison just then, where they found a scene very similar to the previous morning. The only difference was that the victim was slightly older, slightly grayer, and had bled to death on a black leather chair instead of a brown one. 

After a brief discussion with Dr. Holloway, Starsky and Hutch took to the streets to put out a few feelers about Woodrow Alliston. They didn't have to look very far. The first snitch they talked to could tell them everything they wanted to know.

The snitch was a short, balding redhead who ran an ice-cream van emblazoned with the words 'Mario's Ices'. And Mario was the name he went by, though Hutch knew it wasn't his real one.

He was sleeping in the front seat of his van when Starsky and Hutch swung by.

"Woodrow Alliston?" he said after they woke him up and told him what they wanted. "The lawyer guy? He's dead, right?"

Hutch frowned.

"What makes you say that, Mario?"

"Well, you're here asking questions about him, for one thing. Besides, everyone's talking about the falling out he had with Frank Stratham. And you don't cross Frank Stratham and get away with it."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances. Frank Stratham was a big fish in the drugs trade, so big that anything that happened around him sent out waves across half the city.

"Everyone's talking about it?" Starsky echoed.

'Everyone' had to mean everyone in the drugs scene. Mario himself had a little sideline in marijuana that had never grown big enough to outweigh his usefulness as a snitch.

"That's right," he said. "At least three people told me about it yesterday."

"What was the cause of the fight?"

Mario shrugged. 

"That's all I know, guys. Now if you don't mind, I'm getting hungry. And maybe you'd like to think about contributing to the cost of my breakfast?"

Hutch got out his wallet. 

When he headed back to the car, Starsky trailed behind.

Hutch looked back at him. "What's the matter with you?"

"I woulda liked an ice-cream. But he hasn't got his machine switched on."

"It's half past eight in the morning, Starsky," Hutch said with restrained impatience.

"Yeah, I know." Starsky got in behind the wheel. He spent one last second bemoaning his lost ice-cream. "Ok, next stop, Stratham's club."

"Warrant first," Hutch said, grimacing.

They'd never get past Stratham's layer of lawyers and musclemen without one.

During lunch they got a call to say the DA's office had come through on the warrant and had sent it over to the station. When Starsky and Hutch returned to Metro, there was a file lying on Hutch's desk that hadn't been there earlier that morning.

"Missing Persons brought that up a few minutes ago," Bob Cole said as he passed them on the way to the coffee machine.

Hutch picked it up.

"It's about the first vic, Matthews."

"There's a missing persons out on Matthews?" Starsky said, surprised. "And we're only hearing about it now?"

Hutch scanned the sheet of paper.

"Looks like he wasn't reported missing until yesterday evening, almost twenty-four hours after he died. MisPer didn't match it with the murder digest until this morning." He looked up. "The report was filed by a Mrs. Gabrielle Poole. So let's find out who cares about Matthews enough to miss him, and yet doesn't think to call his office, doesn't get contacted by his friends or family... Odd, huh?"

They headed back out to the car.

"MisPer report first?" Hutch said, thinking that Frank Stratham wasn't going anywhere fast, but that maybe someone was still waiting anxiously for news of Geoffrey Matthews.

"Yeah, okay." 

Starsky started the engine, and Hutch gave him the address Gabrielle Poole had provided when she filed the Missing Persons report. It turned out to be the upper-floor apartment of a duplex in a street of low-rent houses. A short, plump blonde woman in her forties answered the door, her eyes red and swollen from crying.

"We're here about the missing person report you made on a Mr. Geoffrey Matt-- " Hutch began.

"He's d-dead," she broke in. "Yes, I know."

Hutch exchanged a quick glance with Starsky.

"How do you know that, Mrs. Poole?" he asked.

"I called his office this morning. I should have done that right away, but I never like to -- didn't like to -- oh..." 

She took a deep shuddery breath and turned away, her head bent.

"I'm afraid we're going to have to ask you a few questions, Mrs. Poole," Hutch said gently. "Perhaps we could sit down?"

The apartment had a one-room layout similar to Hutch's own, with a couch and two armchairs forming a living area in one corner. Mrs. Poole waved them into the two armchairs and sank to the couch herself. Her face was pale and blotched, and her movements slow, like an automaton, as though she'd cried herself out but still hadn't managed to get her head around the bad news.

Hutch felt as though he were on unknown and possible treacherous ground.

"What is your connection to Mr. Matthews?" he began.

"My connection?" she repeated blankly.

"Are you a family member?" 

He was thinking distant cousin or in-law of some kind. She hadn't come up on Matthews' background search.

Starsky nudged him and nodded towards the fireplace. On the mantlepiece stood a framed photo of Gabrielle Poole and Geoffrey Matthews, arm in arm and smiling into each other's eyes, a fun-fair in the background.

Starsky nodded again, this time towards the bed in one corner of the room. Hutch saw several pairs of men's shoes lined up on one side of the bed, a stack of law books on the kitchen table and more on the bookshelves, a man's smart black gabardine overcoat hanging by the door. On the bedside table on what appeared to be Mrs. Poole's side was another photo of her and Matthews, sitting on a beach together, smiling into the camera. They might have been mother and son, if it weren't for the hand Matthews had slipped around the woman's bare waist, pulling her close.

Hutch felt his eyes widen, and turned to meet Starsky's gaze. His partner looked just as thrown as he did.

Hutch decided to start with the books.

"Are these Mr. Matthews'?" he asked, laying a hand on the stack of hefty legal tomes.

She gazed at him blankly.

"Of course they're his. I don't read law books myself, you know."

"He lived here?"

The near empty apartment in the luxury building over on Staunton was starting to make some sense.

She winced, something startling her from her daze. Hutch thought it was probably his use of the past tense.

She gave an unexpected laugh and started talking in rapid-fire sentences.

"Yeah, he lives here, most of the time. Lived here. He still has another apartment -- I guess you already know that? It's on Staunton. Just -- as a sort of official address, you know? His parents and colleagues don't know anything about me. I guess you know that already, right? I mean, here you are and you're asking -- asking questions, because this is a -- a murder -- Oh!" She took another slow, careful deep breath, and it looked like she hadn't cried herself out after all. "When I phoned they said he was -- he was -- "

Starsky, who had remained silent up till now, reached out to cover her hand.

"It's all right, Mrs. Poole. Take your time." His voice was low. "We're sorry we have to trouble you at a time like this, but we're going to have to ask you a few more questions. Okay?" 

She nodded.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," she said again, as though they weren't the ones who ought to be saying it.

"Would you like to stop for a minute, maybe get a glass of water?"

She fixed on the idea.

"A drink! Yes, of course, can I offer you a drink? I'm sorry, I didn't think -- "

Hutch had long since learned always to accept such an offer in this situation, even though half the time he ended up not drinking it or even not getting it.

Gabrielle Poole went over to kitchen area to put on the kettle. Hutch watched closely, always afraid of accidents or scalds. People weren't themselves in these circumstances. 

Mrs. Poole took much longer than was necessary to prepare three cups, saucers and a sugar bowl. Finally she turned around again, her face determined.

"You wanted to ask me some questions?"

Starsky threw a glance at Hutch, who took up the thread of questioning.

"How long have you known Mr. Matthews, Mrs. Poole?"

"Five years. He'd just transferred to law school in Bay City when we met. I used to work there, cleaning rooms. At his school, I mean. He was -- " She had a small smile now, transforming her face. "We were just made for each other, you know?"

Hutch couldn't resist a quick glance at Starsky, not to communicate something related to the case but just because he knew exactly what she meant.

"And he kept this relationship secret from his family and friends?"

"Well, he doesn't see his parents above once a year anyway. They're not -- well, they're just -- he transferred from San Francisco to Bay City back then to get away from them, you know. His sister's lovely, though. Really nice girl. She's away in Europe at the moment, you know. She's going to be so -- This morning I couldn't get hold of her on the telephone. Have you -- "

"We've been in touch with Miss Matthews," Hutch said reassuringly.

"Okay." She swallowed. "Okay, good. Uh, you were asking me -- Yeah, his friends and colleagues. Well, I never had much to do with them, you know. Never wanted to. He wanted to show me off, at first, take me everywhere. But can you imagine me, hanging around with a bunch of twenty-year-old law students?" She grinned at them, shaking her head. "And now that he's working at the firm, well -- "

The kettle whistled, but she didn't seem to notice. Hutch heard with a pang in his heart that she had switched back to the present tense again.

"I'm no high-society wife. Never wanted to be. Can you imagine me, handing around the cheesesticks at the cocktail soiree?" She shook her head. "Besides the -- you know, my age, and the things people would say about him behind his back. We get enough funny looks, just walking around on the street together."

She was looked down at her hands now, apparently lost in her own thoughts.

Hutch glanced at Starsky, and read his thoughts in Starsky's face. _Let's not push her._

They both rose to their feet.

"Have you got someone you can call to come be with you?" Hutch asked. "You shouldn't be alone right now."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

"That'll be Mildred," Mrs. Poole said, scrubbing at her eyes again.

Mildred was a tired-looking lady in her fifties. She gave the two cops a hard, suspicious look as they passed.

Starsky tipped an invisible hat at her. "You take care of your friend, now, Ms Mildred."

Once they were back out on the street, Hutch raised an eyebrow at Starsky.

Starsky shrugged.

"Genuine. Has to be. I sure wasn't expecting a grieving -- grieving widow, I guess we should call her."

"Neither was I."

"Anyway, I don't even think -- "

"That Matthews was the intended victim," Hutch finished. "Yeah."

They got into the car.

Starsky paused before starting the engine.

"How old do you think she is?"

"Forty-five at least. And he was, what, twenty-six?"

"Yeah."

"No wonder she didn't want to have to parade around in front of his law firm colleagues like some sort of -- freak curiosity."

"There's freaky and freakier," Starsky said slowly.

Hutch shot him a look.

"You really think that?"

Starsky frowned.

"I'm not talking about us, Hutch. Or, I guess I am, but I didn't mean I think we're -- freaky. Guess I was thinking more about what we would look like from the outside."

He pulled out into traffic. Hutch sighed, and forced his mind back onto the job. He reached into his pocket to check he still had the warrant they'd gotten at lunchtime.

"Okay, Stratham's club now."

.. .. ..

They ate a quick dinner at a drive-in, after a frustratingly unsuccessful visit to Stratham's headquarters. Stratham himself hadn't been there, and the place was as clean as a whistle. It was obvious he'd been expecting a police visit.

Starsky finished his fries first. He stole a handful from Hutch, and said thoughtfully, "You know, that poor kid Matthews could have been you, Hutch."

Hutch was taken aback by that. 

"I never had a thing for older women, Starsk."

Starsky shook his head vigorously. 

"Yeah, I didn't mean that. I guess I said it because I know you were thinking about law school once. But also, I mean, having this whole 'nother life, hidden from your family..."

Hutch took a large bite of his burger and chewed for a minute, thinking that over.

"You want me to tell my family about you? About us, I mean?"

"No! Are you crazy?"

"I'm tempted to, you know. Might be fun to watch them explode."

Starsky stared at him, his eyes wide and shocked.

"Relax, Starsk. I'm not gonna do that. I want to keep this under wraps as much as you do. It's just -- like the lady said, I wanna show you off."

That got a tiny grin out of Starsky.

"I don't smarten up well."

Hutch smacked his head, acting like he was just remembering it.

"Yeah, that's true. That is a problem. Well, forget I said anything."

They shared a chuckle. 

When the laughter died away, Starsky sighed.

"Seriously, though, I'd like to tell Ma about you."

Hutch considered that a minute. Starsky's mother was a very different proposition from his own parents.

"You gonna?"

"Nah. Even if she doesn't get... too upset, it'll just make her worry." He shrugged off the serious mood. "You gonna finish those fries?"

They finished the packet between them, and then headed back to Hutch's place to pick up the LTD for a stakeout on Stratham's club.

.. .. ..

Starsky's idea about the killer having got the wrong floor first time round turned out to be completely correct. After ten more days of hard work, and half of those ten nights spent on stakeout, they finally nailed the real killer.

He wasn't even the best part: he was just a hired hitman. The best part was nailing Stratham at the same time. He'd wanted his lawyer dead because he'd discovered the man had been careless enough to let certain highly incriminating documents slip into the wrong hands -- the hands of a former associate and now enemy of Stratham's. In the end, killing the lawyer had only drawn attention to the existence of the documents, and a good dose of intensive, old-fashioned policework had tracked them down. It was beginning to look like they might even be enough to put Stratham behind bars for a good long while.

The hard work had been shared out between Starsky and Hutch and two other teams: Kovar and Ortega, and Jackson and Miller. But it had been work for even more than six men, and by the time they could finally head home after Stratham's arrest, Hutch was exhausted.

He dozed off in the car on the way to Starsky's place, and jerked awake as Starsky pulled his car up to the curb.

"We're home," said Starsky, poking him unnecessarily in the arm. "Wakey wakey, kiddo."

Without discussing or planning it, they'd spent almost every night of the past two weeks together, alternating between their two places. They'd been careful to arrange things so that there was only ever one car outside either door overnight.

Hutch felt pretty nervous, now that they'd taken the plunge. He knew Starsky felt the same way. Sometimes he thought they were being paranoid, but most of the time he was afraid they weren't being careful enough.

The first time they'd walked into the squadroom after that first night, Hutch had felt like the truth was written all over his face, like someone was going to read it off him. _Got laid but good last night, and guess who by? By his partner, that's who._

But he couldn't stop grinning every time he caught sight of Starsky across the desk from him. Couldn't help remembering waking up that morning with his head pillowed on Starsky's shoulder. Couldn't help remembering kissing that lower lip that was getting chewed to pieces now, as Starsky frowned over a case file.

It was Babcock who'd noticed, on the way back from the coffee pitcher, mug in hand.

"You're looking very cheerful this morning, Hutch. Good night last night?"

He'd followed it up with a wink and a dirty laugh.

Hutch froze, but before he could respond, Starsky leaned in.

"God, don't set him off again. You know what I've had to put up with all morning? I already know way more about this Lisa chick than I ever want to."

Hutch chuckled then.

"What can I say? I'm in love."

Babcock turned to Starsky.

"You actually met this lovely lady?"

Starsky sketched an hourglass in the air. Babcock whistled, gave Hutch a hearty clap on the shoulder, and went on his way.

Hutch looked up and met Starsky's eye, feeling annoyed and off-balance.

Starsky leaned across the desk and said in an undertone, "So am I."

Hutch didn't get it at first. Then he thought back to the last thing he'd said, and it clicked. His smile came back in full force. 

Starsky already had his head bent over his file again, but Hutch could see just enough of his face to know he was smiling. too.

.. .. ..

What with the murder follow-up and then the stakeout at Stratham's, Starsky and Hutch hadn't spent very much time in the squadroom in the past two weeks. When they weren't out on the streets they were at home, and when they were at home they inevitably very quickly ended up in bed.

Hutch had spent the two weeks carefully probing out how far Starsky was willing to go. He'd been unable to suppress his surprise when it turned out to be all the way.

"What? What?" Starsky had said that particular night, seeing the ill-concealed surprise on Hutch's face. He'd been lying in his back, trying to tug Hutch down on top of him. "You think I don't have what it takes? If you can take it up the ass so can I."

Hutch sat back on his heels, half annoyed now and half laughing.

"It's not like -- it's not a competition, Starsk."

"I never said it was."

"So let's not -- "

"I just said I can do it, that's all."

Hutch spread his hands, placating. "Okay, okay."

"Besides -- "

He stopped abruptly.

"Besides what?"

"Besides, I wanna know -- " Starsky was looking down at his knees now, his face bright pink with embarrassment. "You seemed to like it a lot."

He shot a quick glance up at Hutch, half challenging, half shy.

Hutch swallowed, suddenly awash with heat.

"Yeah, I liked it a lot." He reached out to lay a hand on Starsky's arm. "I wanna make you feel like that too, Starsk."

They didn't talk a lot outside of working hours during those two weeks. Mostly they ate takeout, as always when they were working on a hard case. And when they finally got home, late at night or -- during the ten days of stakeout -- just after sunrise, they had time to talk or fuck. And really, there was no contest there.

Hutch sometimes felt like they were crazy, both of them. Trying to make up for almost a decade of lost time. Sometimes it felt like being stuck on a runaway train. Most of the time, though, it felt more like going down the huge water-slide at the fun-fair. You weren't in control, but you were having so much fun you didn't ever want it to stop.

_Two weeks of a honeymoon,_ Hutch thought, watching Starsky dozing on the couch one evening, a warm, affectionate feeling filling his chest. _It has to come to an end sometime._

And it did, the night after Frank Stratham's arrest, while they were having a post-case drink at the Pits.

They had taken seats up at the bar tonight. Starsky and Huggy were exchanging horror stories on the colony of crocodiles which apparently lived in Bay City's sewer system. Hutch was sitting staring into his drink and thinking about an asparagus fern that was giving him some concern, when he became aware that someone had appeared at his elbow.

A somehow familiar brunette was sitting on the stool next to him, giving him a wide, open smile.

"I don't expect you recognize me -- " she began.

He was afraid he'd have to say he didn't and disappoint those lovely green eyes, when suddenly it clicked.

"You work at the library on West Kingston."

He preferred to buy the books he read, but Starsky was such a voracious reader that he had taken out a library membership. More often than not he ended up keeping the books well past their due date. Hutch had been roped into returning Starsky's overdue books on more than one occasion in the past.

Her smile widened.

"That's right. I'm not surprised you almost didn't recognize me, though. I see your friend much more often."

She nodded over his shoulder at Starsky, who from the sound of things was in a full scale argument with Huggy about the difference between an alligator and a crocodile.

"That's my partner," he said, and added the usual necessary qualification. "We work together."

"I'm here with a girlfriend," she said. "You guys want to join us?"

He found himself returning her broad smile.

"Sure."

As he and Starsky followed her across the room, he was very much aware of the five or six other cops in the room, at least some of whom were certainly watching. He only felt the slightest twinge of guilt, however. He hadn't deliberately set out to pick up a girl just to use her as cover. She approached him, and there was no reason they couldn't have a pleasant evening together.

It was Starsky who ended up hitting it off with Belinda, the librarian. Hutch had a good time chatting to her friend Joyce, who turned out to have a pair of sparkling brown eyes and an interest in jazz.

The girls didn't want to stay too late, because Joyce had to be up at five the next morning to drive a school bus. They left reluctantly, after handing over their phone numbers, and there were smiles all round as they said goodbye.

Hutch watched the girls make their way across the bar to the door. Joyce looked back and gave him a final wave and a smile. Hutch returned the smile with a little salute of his own. The girls had been friendly, pretty, and good fun to be with. 

If only life could be that simple, he thought, feeling his smile drain quickly away.

He turned back to Starsky, who was watching him with a similar shadow in his own eyes.

"We're going to have to talk about this, Starsk," he said.

Starsky nodded.

"Yeah," he said, looking into his glass. He drained it in one swallow and got to his feet. "Come on."

Soon they were sitting in the Torino, but Starsky didn't start the car. When Hutch turned to look at him, Starsky was just sitting there, staring down at the steering wheel.

"We knew it was going to be like this, Starsk," he said softly.

"Yeah." 

The interior of the car was dark, lit only by a neon lamp flashing red on the other side of the road. Hutch watched Starsky's face appear and disappear in the flashes.

"Do you -- "

"I don't want to share you," Starsky muttered.

Hutch swallowed around the tight feeling in his throat.

"Look, maybe it's for the best, anyway. I don't want you to start to feel, uh -- "

Starsky shot him a suspicious look.

"What?"

Hutch rubbed his head, feeling he was on shaky ground.

"You like girls," he said in a rush, thinking it would be easier and feel less stupid if he got it out quickly. "I don't expect you to give that up for me."

Starsky stiffened. Hutch could only make out the outline of his expression in the flashes of neon, but he could tell it wasn't happy.

"Yeah, I like girls. But if I married a brunette I wouldn't go around hankering after blondes, and I like blondes just fine."

Not the same and you know it, Hutch thought.

Starsky could clearly read Hutch's mind, because he said, "What, and you're trying to say you don't like girls after all?" His voice was full of sarcasm.

Hutch shrugged.

"You're enough," he said, not to flatter but just as a statement of fact.

Starsky's face didn't soften -- it hardened. His frown deepened.

"And can't you do me the favor of believing I might feel the same way?"

The surge of guilt in Hutch's stomach was mixed with a simultaneous wave of affection.

"Sorry."

Starsky's face softened then. He reached out to lay a hand on Hutch's arm.

"You're more than enough, Hutch."

"You too, babe."

After a moment, Starsky squeezed and then let go.

"Still leaves us with the problem," Hutch said.

The dating problem, he thought, but it seemed an odd way to put it.

He remembered lying on the sofa with Starsky and him saying "Let's not talk about it just now." But they couldn't ignore reality for ever.

"I guess it's not exactly a problem, as such. We can do this, I think. I mean, the world is full of girls who just want a quick roll in the hay, no strings attached."

"You wanna go all the way?" Starsky said, his voice shooting up.

Hutch gave him a sharp look.

"When I said you were enough, I meant it."

"But -- ?"

"But -- do you really think no one's going to notice if we suddenly act like monks?"

"People don't pay that much attention to our sex lives."

"Says the man who was gossiping with Minnie just yesterday about whether Riviera's still sleeping on the couch."

"I wasn't gossiping! I was -- " Starsky broke off. "Okay, point taken." He paused, and then muttered, "Plus it's the spare bedroom, not the couch."

Hutch had to laugh at that. He laid a hand on Starsky's knee and squeezed. Starsky covered Hutch's hand with his own.

"Maybe we could find us a pair of nuns," Hutch suggested.

Now Starsky was laughing too.

"Okay, let's head home," he said, putting the car in drive.

.. .. ..

_Chapter 5_

Starsky headed for his place, since they were in his car. As soon as they were home he began to pull sandwich ingredients out of the fridge: ham, tomatoes and cheese. Hutch got out the bread, and then they sat on the couch together to eat their late-night snack.

Starsky waited until he was on his second sandwich and the edge was off their hunger before asking:

"You ever think you'd get married again?"

Beside him, he could feel Hutch stiffen.

"Once burned, twice shy," Hutch said dryly, but Starsky could hear the bitterness underneath.

"You never dream of a little boy and a girl and a white picket fence?"

This time Hutch laughed.

"I really can't see myself with a white picket fence, Starsk. But I know what you mean, and -- " He shrugged. "Sometimes. I never really thought I'd have it though. Not even when I was younger."

_Vanessa's fault,_ Starsky thought, like he often had before.

"I never even been engaged," he said. "At least, not quite."

"Not quite?"

"I don't count -- well, you remember Terri wouldn't let me," Starsky said, still feeling that pang of sadness that was never going to go away. "I _felt_ it, you know, but it wasn't... official."

Hutch squeezed his hand. Starsky squeezed back.

"I don't count Lorna Phelps in 2nd grade either," he added.

Hutch raised an eyebrow. 

Starsky grinned. "Yeah, I gave her a ring made out of colored plastic and she gave me her big brother's Tonka Truck."

"But you didn't live happily every after?"

"Her big brother gave me a split lip."

Hutch chuckled.

Starsky took another bite of his sandwich, and chewed thoughtfully for a while.

"I always thought I'd have kids some day," he said finally.

That got him another frown from Hutch.

"You talk as if you're sure now you never will."

Starsky gave him a direct look.

Hutch grimaced. Then he leaned over and kissed Starsky gently on the forehead.

"Come on, let's go to bed."

.. .. ..

The very next morning, Starsky received a phone call he'd rather not have had to deal with right then.

"Kathy called," he said when Hutch came out of the shower, a towel around his waist and another in his hand. "She's in town tomorrow with a friend from her airline."

Hutch paused in the act of toweling his hair. He looked wary.

"What did you say?"

"That I'd call her back."

Hutch went back to drying his hair. In the glimpses of his face behind the swinging towel, Starsky could see set lips and a set jaw. Finally he tossed the towel back into the bathroom, and turned to Starsky.

"I like Kathy, you know," he said. "I don't want to lie to her."

Starsky came up to him, and slipped his arms around Hutch's bare waist. He was still a bit damp, and smelled of Starsky's soap and shampoo. Starsky pressed a kiss to his shoulder.

"I'm not asking you to."

He didn't point out that Hutch had been the one pushing the idea of dating women, just the previous evening. 

Hutch sighed, and wrapped his arms around Starsky in return, pulling him closer. They stood like that for a minute, and Starsky bent his head to rest it on Hutch's shoulder, enjoying the feel of Hutch's large warm hand on his back, thumb stroking softly. Finally they broke apart. Starsky stepped back, giving Hutch a whack on his towel-covered rump at the same time.

"Now go pick up that towel."

"Aw - what?"

Starsky grinned at him.

"My place, my rules."

"You would have said exactly the same thing if it was my towel and my bathroom," Hutch grumbled, but he obeyed orders all the same.

Kathy had told Starsky to wait until evening, Pacific time, before calling her back. That was when she'd next be on the ground. Starsky rang up and told her they couldn't make it.

"Aw, that's a shame," she said. "Maybe next time, huh?"

"Yeah, next time," said Starsky.

"Well, you take care of yourself, honey. And give Hutch a kiss from me."

She didn't mean it like that, he knew, but still he was glad this was a telephone conversation and she couldn't see his face.

.. .. ..

The next week turned out to be relatively routine, the most eventful thing on their beat being the armed robbery of a novelty gifts store. Starsky took advantage of that to buy a self-stirring mug and a paperclip holder in the shape of a bright red and white car that looked almost like the Torino.

At the end of the week they had a particularly quiet day, full of minor robberies and barroom brawls. Towards evening, they were called to a disturbance in a stairwell that turned out to be more significant than expected, at least on a personal level.

The address dispatch relayed was a run-down building on Lincoln Street. There was no one behind the doorman's desk, and it looked like it had been that way for years already. The elevator was broken and they took the stairs, hands on guns.

They met no one in the stairwell, but the lower floors, at least, showed signs of habitation. The higher they climbed, the more derelict the building became.

On the sixth floor landing they found two men, caught in the act of trying to break down an apartment door.

"Police," Starsky said, flashing his badge with his right hand, his left still on his gun.

It was a hustler and his trick, that much was obvious to Starsky. The hustler had been trying to break down the door and escape the approaching footsteps. Now he let his hand slip away from the door-handle. He turned slowly to face Starsky, accepting the inevitable.

He was in his early thirties, with tired eyes and a bad bleach job. The other guy was a bit younger, dressed in some kind of chain store uniform as though he'd come straight from work. He was scrambling to button his clothes up. He looked terrified. The hustler had a thin layer of cockiness over his own fear.

"Me and my friend here were just leaving," he said, making a move as though to step past the two cops.

"Hold it," Hutch said, blocking the way.

The trick was just staring at them, eyes round and terrified. The hustler shrugged and scowled at them.

Can't even afford a room, Starsky thought, something sad and angry starting to build up inside him.

"You were just gonna turn a trick right here on the landing, is that it?" he said. "You know this is somebody's home? People live here."

The hustler cast a glance around the corridor, which admittedly looked practically deserted. Some of the doors were half off their hinges, and there was a scattering of plaster across part of the corridor where the ceiling was coming down.

"Nobody lives here, man," he said.

"People live here," Starsky repeated. "So unless you want to get busted, you keep it out of here and out of the public eye, all right?"

The hustler's attitude changed subtly, as he realized that maybe he wasn't about to get busted after all. He nodded.

Starsky stepped forward, that angry feeling rising further up inside of him. He got in the hustler's face now, staring him down.

"I catch you here again, I'm gonna take you in and throw the book at you, all right? It won't be a two-bit soliciting charge but the whole works. All right?"

"Yeah, yeah, all right."

Starsky turned to the chain-store guy, who was still wide-eyed and terrified.

"Same goes for you."

The guy nodded mutely.

"Now move it," Hutch said. Starsky hadn't had to look at him to know he was on board with what Starsky was doing.

The two of them disappeared down the stairs at a run.

Starsky took a deep breath. He could feel Hutch coming closer but not quite touching him.

"Okay, let's find the guy who called it in," Starsky suggested.

They found the complainant behind the only fully intact door on the floor: a man in his seventies who insisted on keeping them outside and the chain on the door, even after he'd seen their badges.

"You shouldn't have any more trouble, Mr. Witz," Starsky said. "But if you do, don't hesitate to give us another call. All right?"

Mr. Witz didn't look convinced. 

Starsky sighed and glanced at Hutch, who shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"Good bye, now, Mr. Witz," Starsky said, and they headed back towards the stairwell, stopping on the way to take a look at the door the hustler had been trying to break through. The bottom panel was all kicked in, but that hadn't happened today, and there wasn't much they could do about it anyway.

Starsky gave the door a push to make sure it really was shut. He could feel Hutch's gaze on him, worried.

He turned to face Hutch and the words burst out of him.

"It's just -- like seeing us from the outside, you know?"

Hutch's eyes narrowed, and Starsky wished he hadn't said anything. He shrugged.

"Come on, let's go."

Out on the street and in the car, Hutch was still watching Starsky carefully.

Starsky shot him an impatient look, knowing exactly what he was thinking.

"Would you stop with that?"

"What?"

"I didn't mean I saw us like that. I meant other people would do, if they knew. What do you think my mother would imagine if I told her that sometimes I like guys?"

He'd never actually said that aloud before, but somehow that wasn't even the important thing here any more.

"Yeah," Hutch said in a flat tone that matched the dull feeling that had settled down inside Starsky's chest. 

He reached for the radio to call them back in.

It was a Friday, and they dropped into Huggy's just to touch base with him before the evening in at home they had planned.

Huggy raised his eyebrows at them.

"I wasn't expecting to see you two in here on a Friday night, and all on your lonesome. Where're those lovely ladies I saw you pick up last week? They stood you up, or you just don't think my establishment is classy enough?"

"Your establishment is plenty classy enough," Starsky assured him, plopping onto a bar stool. "But right now the only thing I have on my mind is a long cool beer."

"I'll make that two, will I?" Huggy said, as Hutch took the next stool.

Hutch gave him his broadest, most charming smile.

Huggy rolled his eyes at him, but he soon came back with two beers all the same.

"So what are you two fine gentlemen up to this weekend?" he said conversationally, propping himself up on his elbows on the bar. "No more fishing trips, I hope? I've given up waiting to serve fresh fish soup here."

"We catch fish," Starsky protested. "Sometimes, anyway."

"Maybe, but with the amount of money you spend in bait and tackle, you might as well just have bought some fish."

Starsky could only stare in amazement at this.

"Huggy, you're missing the point. It's about the call of the wild, the -- the bounty of nature, the... Hutch, back me up here."

Hutch didn't seem too willing to do so.

"We're not going fishing," he told Huggy. "We're heading up the coast to Loretto Point. All-day picnic, dip in the sea..."

Another customer came to the bar, and Huggy straightened up.

"Well, you cats have fun. Me, I've got an important meeting lined up with a big name in the import-export business." He tapped his nose. "Mum's the word until the deal is done."

.. .. ..

They set off after breakfast in the Torino, after a brief debate about whose car had the biggest trunk space. It was late June, and high temperatures were forecast for the day. The Torino's interior was already hot. They rolled down the windows and let a pleasant breeze blow through the car.

Just before noon they pulled off the road onto a dirt track they'd taken before. They left the car in a clearing in the brush and set off on foot, Hutch carrying the picnic basket and Starsky the backpack. After a short hike they reached their picnic spot, high above the sea, in the shade of a copse of oak and bay trees.

They cleared a space free of stray branches and pebbles. Hutch spread out a blanket.

"Lunch first," Starsky said, diving onto the picnic basket. He was already starving.

He was in the middle of unpacking when something popped into his mind. He looked up, suddenly afraid.

"Did you remember--"

"Yes, I remembered the relish," Hutch said in his most exaggeratedly patient voice. "Don't know what kind of shape it must be in after two hours in this heat, but I got it. It's right at the bottom."

They'd prepared a feast before leaving that morning, and Starsky hardly knew where to start, he was so hungry: a roast beef and pickle sandwich, a cream cheese sandwich, or maybe the potato salad? Hutch took a deviled egg and a bottle of beer. He stretched out on the blanket, propped up on one elbow.

"Throw me the bottle opener, will you, Starsk?"

They ate in comfortable silence, and finished up with cookies and apples. Starsky dropped his apple core into their trash bag and licked apple juice from his fingers.

"Wanna go down to the beach, Hutch?"

Hutch was lying back on the blanket, his hands folded over his stomach. His eyes were closed, and he looked like he was settling in for a nap.

"Hutch?"

"I'm digesting, like you should be. No exercise for one hour after eating, remember?"

Starsky hesitated.

Without opening his eyes, Hutch held out a hand in Starsky's general direction.

"Come lie down?"

Starsky couldn't say no to that.

He lay down with one arm flung over Hutch's chest, and his head pillowed on a rolled-up corner of the picnic blanket. Hutch turned his head to press a kiss to Starsky's temple, and then seemed to drift off to sleep. Within a few minutes, Starsky was getting comfortably drowsy too.

He woke some time later with Hutch's hair tickling his nose. The sun was warm on his face. He lay there for a while, just breathing in the smell of Hutch's warm skin. He could hear cicadas singing somewhere nearby, and the crash of waves against the shore in the distance.

After a few minutes he opened his eyes. Hutch still seemed to be asleep. Starsky got a bunch of long blond hair in his fingers and tugged gently. Hutch grunted, but went on sleeping.

Starsky sat up and pulled his camera out of the backpack. He snapped the dappled pattern of sunlight shining through the canopy of leaves and falling on a tree stump. Next he lay down full-length on the ground to get the tips of the dry, yellow summer grass against the clear blue sky. As he was getting to his feet again he spotted a buckeye butterfly resting on a branch, and managed to immortalize it before it fluttered away.

Hutch was awake and sitting up now, so Starsky snapped a couple of photos of him too. Hutch stuck his tongue out and made a face for the first one, but in the second one he was just smiling softly. Starsky had a feeling that one was going to turn out pretty nice.

He knelt down by the backpack to stow his camera away.

"I hope you're finished digesting, Hutch," he said over his shoulder. "Because I'm going down to the beach."

He felt Hutch's lips on the back of his neck, and twisted round to kiss him on the mouth. They stayed like that for a long minute, kneeling together on the blanket, propped up against each other, kissing softly.

Finally, Hutch pulled back.

"Come on, let's get you in the water."

They changed into swimming trunks and walked down to the beach. It was almost deserted. In the distance, a couple were sun-bathing while their children built sandcastles. 

"Race you!" Starsky burst out and took off running as fast as he could before Hutch could react.

Hutch gasped in indignation. "Get back here!"

By the time he caught up, Starsky was already splashing around in the shallows. Hutch jumped on him and pushed him under in retaliation. The only problem was, Starsky had been expecting the attack. He went limp on purpose, and Hutch ended up face down in the sandy seabed.

"You dirty rotten cheater," he spluttered.

Starsky grinned and splashed water at him.

They waded out into deeper waters and settled down to swimming lengths, at first trying to race but later just swimming alongside.

After they came out of the water they strolled along the seashore for a while, drying off and enjoying the sunshine. Then they walked back up through the trees to their picnic spot, stopping every now and then to steal a kiss.

Hutch had brought 'Jonathan Livingstone Seagull', and Starsky had a book about the Great Wall of China. They lay down to read, until Starsky started to feel hungry again. That was when he discovered Hutch had polished off all the deviled eggs at lunchtime.

"Early bird catches the worm," Hutch said smugly, and got a peanut shell to the head for his troubles.

.. .. ..

Work on Monday was quiet. Starsky spent most of the time trying to persuade Hutch that they should take time off and go get a worrying clanking noise in the Torino checked out. Hutch cracked around quarter to five, and they went to Merle's. It turned out to be nothing serious, just a worn strut mount, but Starsky knew he'd done the right thing in getting it seen to straight away. He maintained a dignified silence when Hutch called him an 'automobile hypochondriac.' He couldn't be too careful with the Torino, now, could he?

Over the next few weeks he kept an attentive ear tuned to the Torino's suspension, but the clanking noise seemed to be a thing of the past. Even after two car chases and one bumpy ride over rough terrain in pursuit of a felon on foot, she was running as smoothly as ever.

It was early July when Hutch remarked, "You know, neither us has been on a date in... almost two months." 

They were curled up on the couch together after dinner one evening, watching television with the sound turned off and talking about this and that.

"We haven't?" Starsky said, surprised. 

He tried to remember the last date. It took him a while, but it was true, it had been seven or eight weeks, unless he counted the two girls they'd met by chance one evening at The Pits.

"Jackson was asking me if I had a secret fiancee tucked away somewhere," Hutch said. "Said it was the only explanation."

"None of his business," Starsky muttered.

"No, it isn't." Hutch's voice was quiet.

On the TV screen, Starsky watched a guy come swinging down off a castle balcony at the end of a rope, to land neatly on his feet with his sword out, ready to run the bad guys through.

"I still have Belinda's phone number," he said after a while.

"Belinda the librarian?"

"Yeah."

They looked at each other.

"I'll do it," Hutch said, reaching for the telephone.

.. .. ..

_Chapter 6_

Hutch turned away from the bar, carrying four glasses, and looked around for Starsky and the girls. The room was crowded, the darkness broken only by flashing disco lights. Finally he spotted them. They'd managed to find a free table on the far side of the room, not too close to the stage.

Starsky was chuckling at something Belinda had said. Joyce looked up and caught Hutch's eye. She smiled at him when he came closer, and scooted up to make room for him on the seat.

"It's been a few years since I was here," she said in his ear, over the sound of the music. "It used to have some sort of ghastly faux-Oriental decor, I think."

"Thank goodness they've got rid of the incense burners," Hutch said with a grin.

He hadn't been sure whether Belinda and her friend Joyce would still be interested in a date, several weeks after they'd first given Starsky and Hutch their phone numbers. But in the end, both of them had been willing.

"I'm glad you two are free on a Friday night," Joyce said now.

Hutch raised his eyebrows, confused.

"My brother's a cop back in Nebraska," she explained. "He works pretty irregular hours sometimes."

"Oh. Yeah, same for us. I guess that's something you don't have to worry about, driving a school bus."

She smiled. "No. No, I don't."

She had a very pretty smile, one that made her eyes crinkle up and her cheeks dimple. She raised an eyebrow, and he realized he'd been staring. He gave a little laugh, half apologetic, half designed to charm.

"You don't look like my idea of a bus driver, that's all."

"Oh, I've always liked driving. Pick-ups, tractors, cars... I grew up on a cattle ranch, you see."

"Really? And how did you end up out on the west coast?"

"Followed my ex-husband," she said with a tiny grimace. "We divorced, but I stayed."

"Oh," said Hutch.

"Yeah... it was a few years ago now." She shrugged. "So how about you? Do you get home often? Dave said you're from Minnesota."

"Not so often, no."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hutch saw Starsky and Belinda get up and head for the dance floor. He held out a hand.

"Care to dance?"

They stayed at the club for two or three hours in total. Hutch had a good time, and Joyce certainly seemed to be enjoying herself too. They danced, sat and talked, danced again. He and Joyce were with Starsky and Belinda most of the time. Hutch had wondered how that would be, seeing Starsky with a woman. In the end it wasn't as bad as he had expected. Double-dating was something he and Starsky had done hundreds of times before. If occasionally he felt a twinge of pain, it was easy to ignore it, to immerse himself in the music and the dark-and-lights atmosphere of the club.

The four of them separated into couples after they left the night club. Hutch watched Starsky and Belinda walk over to the Torino. He turned to Joyce.

"Would you like me to drop you home? You said you lived out in Montgomery Heights, right?"

She looked surprised, maybe even disappointed. Hutch realized she felt somehow rejected. This probably wasn't how she had expected the evening to end. Her mouth had turned down at the corners, though Hutch could tell she was trying to hide her hurt feelings, and think of something neutral to say.

"Thank you, that would be great, Ken."

On impulse he said, as they got into the car, "I'd like to give you a call during the week, if you don't mind. See if you might be free next Friday night?"

Her face lit up. 

"You know, Ken, I think I can probably tell you right now that I will be."

She was looking at him like he was the cat's pajamas, and Hutch realized just what she thought she was seeing: a sweet, old-fashioned kind of guy who didn't expect a girl to put out on a first date. He himself was sitting there feeling like a two-timing bastard, and the contrast between the two images was so marked that it made him sick to his stomach.

He realized she had just given him her address. He shook himself, and put the car in drive.

"That's a nice neighborhood you live in," he said. "You've got lots of green space, Montgomery Park, the Japanese Gardens..."

"Yeah, I'm pretty lucky. The park's great for an evening run in the summer."

"You run?" 

Joyce grimaced.

"Not as often as I wish I did. Once a week, maybe."

He found himself giving her what Starsky called his flirting grin.

"Hey, that's not so bad. More than I manage, sometimes."

They spent the rest of the drive discussing running shoes, and said goodbye with a quick kiss on the lips. She was a lovely girl, and they could have had a nice, uncomplicated time together, Hutch thought, watching her disappear through her front door. He put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb.

When he got home, Starsky was lying on his couch, fast asleep. He stirred at the sound of Hutch shutting the door behind him. His voice rose, muffled, from the cushion he'd buried his head in.

"Mmm... That you, Hutch?"

Hutch threw his jacket on the countertop and came round to the front of the couch to find Starsky sitting up, rubbing his eyes.

"Waiting for me?" Hutch said quietly.

"Sort of," said Starsky. "Didn't know whether you were even coming home tonight, but I -- " He looked sheepish. "So yeah, I guess, here I am."

Hutch sighed, and sat down in the armchair opposite.

"I didn't know what you were doing tonight either. Thought you were -- " He shrugged.

Starsky spread out his hands on his thighs and looked down at them.

"Yeah, I thought I was too. But I wasn't."

Hutch dropped his head into his hands. The night had felt far longer than a night out with a couple of fun girls should have, and his head ached. He wanted to crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head.

Then something occurred to him, and he raised his head to look at Starsky.

"How did you know I wouldn't bring her back here?"

"Saw you drive off in the wrong direction."

Starsky stretched and then grimaced, putting a hand to his stiff neck.

"You could have gotten into bed," Hutch said.

"No, I couldn't," Starsky said simply, and Hutch knew he was right. He could never have lain in Starsky's bed and tried to sleep while he thought Starsky was in someone else's bed.

"We could get into bed now."

Starsky gave him a small flash of a smile.

"Yeah, let's."

They got ready quickly and in silence. As soon as they were both in bed together they turned towards each and touched for the first time since they'd met outside the night club at the start of the evening.

His eyes closed, Hutch let his hands roam down Starsky's arms, and over onto his back. He felt Starsky wiggle closer, and then Starsky's mouth pressed against his. 

Hutch breathed out a little sigh of happiness. "Missed you, babe."

Starsky didn't point out he'd been there all along. He just moved on down along Hutch's jaw, kissing and nibbling, his hands tangled into Hutch's hair.

Hutch let his head fall back. He was already hard, the pressure building higher inside of him. He pulled Starsky on top of him, his fingernails scratching patterns over Starsky's shoulders and back.

Then Starsky's hand closed round them both, and Hutch's hips bucked of their own accord.

He thrust upwards again, seeking that delicious friction. He joined his hand to Starsky's, straining up at the same time, kissing him hard. They rocked against each other, speeding up until Hutch's whole body seized up, and he felt wet warmth on his hand, and couldn't even tell who'd gone first.

Starsky slumped down onto him, then gave him one last kiss and rolled off.

For a few minutes they just lay there, breathing heavily. Hutch stretched out a hand to switch off the bedside lamp.

"Night, Starsk," he whispered.

He heard Starsky's answering snore, and grinned to himself.

.. .. ..

The next morning they weren't working, and they hadn't set an alarm clock. Hutch was woken after sunrise by the light peeking in around the curtains. He lay there, enjoying the pressure of Starsky's arm across his chest.

After a while Starsky stirred and turned over, reaching for the glass of water he kept by the bedside, at Hutch's place as well as his own.

"Uhm... alarm... " he muttered, squinting at the radio clock.

"We're not working," Hutch reassured him.

"Oh, yeah." Starsky buried back down into his pillow.

Hutch remembered something he'd meant to say last night.

"I told Joyce I would give her a call during the week, see whether she might be free next Friday."

"Okay. Good."

Hutch relaxed, even though he'd known Starsky was in agreement with him on this. It was still a relief to hear it.

"But let's not go out together, huh?" Starsky added.

"What, never again?" said Hutch, though he too didn't want to repeat another evening like yesterday's too soon.

"Not next week, at least."

"Okay." He pressed a kiss against the back of Starsky's neck. "You gonna call Belinda?"

Starsky's voice was muffled against the pillow. 

"Maybe."

Hutch raised his head to look at him, suddenly anxious. Starsky caught his mood right away.

"Hey, don't worry, I'll call someone. Just maybe not Belinda, that's all." He turned over so that he was facing Hutch. His eyes were shadowed and serious. "And Hutch? Just -- we gotta keep it light, okay?"

"You thinking of Maggie?" Hutch said softly, remembering that difficult visit to Johnny Blaine's wife just after his death.

"Been thinking of her a lot, lately."

"Me too, man," Hutch said. "Me too."

.. .. ..

A few weeks later, Hutch held open the squadroom door for Starsky and gave an exaggerated bow.

"After you, Oh King of the Cue."

Starsky had won the precinct's long-running pool tournament the night before, and he'd been strutting around all morning.

"You think there might still be one or two people here who haven't heard about your great victory yet?" Hutch added, following him into the room. "Hey, how about the guys in the car pool? I'm sure you'll want to head down -- "

He stopped short at the sound of Dobey's voice.

"Starsky. Hutchinson. My office." The captain was holding up a case file. "Attempted homicide."

Starsky and Hutch exchanged glances. What was so special about this one, out of the twenty or so other attempted homicides in the precinct that week?

They took seats in front of Dobey's desk, while Dobey opened up the file.

"The victim's in a coma in County now. His name is Harold Franklin, a fifty-eight-year-old electrical engineer without a record. He was beaten up and stabbed in the stomach outside a 7/11 on 31st Street just after midnight last night." Dobey paused, looking down at the files. "There were two other people on the scene in addition to the attackers: a man sheltering in a nearby doorway, and Detective Sergeant Isaac Kovar."

"Shit, it's a friend of Ike's?" Starsky exclaimed.

Dobey cleared his throat.

"In fact, it turns out they live at the same address - somewhere out in Huntsville County."

Hutch's breath caught. Maybe he was just paranoid, or maybe Dobey was implying something. He didn't need to worry about hiding his reaction, though. Dobey was still looking down at his notes.

"Sergeant Kovar was released from hospital this morning. He should be here in an hour or two to give his statement. The other man, Franklin, is in a critical condition. I'm putting you on the case already -- "

Before we know whether it's a homicide or not, he meant, Hutch knew.

"You think Ike was the intended victim?" Starsky asked. "Something to do with him being a cop?"

Dobey pushed the file across the desk at him.

"You tell me. And as early as yesterday."

"Ike's a good cop," Starsky said. "He's clean through and through."

"I know it," Dobey growled. Hutch knew Dobey didn't like anyone laying a finger on any one of his detectives. "Now go on, get out of here."

Hutch caught Starsky's eye on the way out of the office. Starsky made a face at him. They were clearly thinking the same thoughts.

.. .. ..

Isaac Kovar was a beanpole-shaped cop in his fifties, best known for being the fastest sprinter on the BCPD track team in his younger days. He had one arm bound up in a sling, and the side of his face was patched up with Band-aids. He sat awkwardly in a chair in the interrogation room he, Starsky and Hutch had stepped into for some privacy. It had been Hutch who'd suggested the interrogation room instead of the squadroom for taking Ike's statement. He had a vague and uneasy presentiment that this case was going to mean trouble.

Kovar told them his story in a flat, exhausted voice.

"I went out for a drink with Harry after work -- I was supposed to have a day off today, and so was he. We thought we'd try out that new bar that's just opened on East 27th. You know, with the big TV screen? Anyway, we decided to call it a night around eleven thirty, but we ended up walking quite a long way, looking for a cab." 

He stopped to take a swig of coffee. Hutch realized he probably hadn't slept in over twenty-four hours.

"We were taking a short cut through one of the side streets between 30th and 31st," Kovar went on, "when four men came up out of the darkness behind us, jumped us before we knew it. I was carrying, of course -- I'd come straight from work. But I didn't even have a chance to pull my gun. They'd already got me pinned down. Face down, too. Couldn't see anything, couldn't move. I could just hear them, working Harry over but good. Must have been nearly two or three minutes before they let me up." He was staring down at the desk now, his face set in hard lines. "Felt like forever."

"You didn't try to go after them?" Starsky asked.

Kovar shook his head.

"Not with Harry lying there bleeding on the sidewalk."

"Wallet, watch, jewelry all gone?"

"Yeah. My piece, too."

Hutch looked down at the description of the men Kovar had already given. The only clear details were about the men's shoes.

"You didn't recognize any of them?"

"No."

Starsky leaned forward, tapping one of the statements taken by the officers on the scene.

"Witness said the attackers called Franklin by name."

Kovar frowned. Hutch couldn't quite decipher the expression. Was it anger? Frustration? Guilt?

"Yeah, I heard that too. But -- I dunno. It was dark. I couldn't see so well. Hardly got a look at them before they had me on the ground."

Hutch took up the line of questioning again.

"Did you get the impression Franklin recognized them?"

"You'll have to ask him that. When he wakes up -- " His voice wavered on the word 'when'. 

Hutch remembered sitting in a horrible plastic hospital chair, watching Starsky's still form, not knowing 'when', or even 'whether'. He wanted desperately to reach out and feel Starsky's very real presence beside him. 

Starsky spoke into the silence.

"Sounds like they knew you were carrying."

"Yeah. Either they made me as a cop, or -- they already knew me."

That was the funny thing about interviewing a fellow detective. He already knew where the questions were leading. He'd already asked them himself. It would have made things very difficult if this were an interrogation, but for the moment it wasn't. Hutch, at least, wasn't thinking of Kovar as a suspect. He was thinking, some detail or other in someone's life usually leads us back to the truth, but whose life is it going to be this time: Franklin? Kovar? Or both? And they knew almost nothing about Franklin.

This would be the point at which they would normally ask for details about Kovar's relationship with Franklin. Hutch hesitated.

Starsky spoke up. "So, do you know Harold Franklin well?"

"Yeah, we've known each other for years. Old friends, you know? We, uh, even bought a house together a few years back. Investment, you know. Couldn't afford to buy by myself, so -- " He laughed uneasily. "

Starsky gave a small laugh too, and Hutch was impressed by how natural it sounded.

"You live somewhere out in the sticks, right?" Starsky asked.

"Yeah, out by Huntsville."

"And Franklin's an engineer? Any problems at work? Known enemies? Working on projects with dodgy investment backgrounds? Dirty money?"

"He's already semi-retired. Gonna retire completely in a few months. He's not really working on anything big any more at all." He shook his head. "I'm the one with the enemies."

"Minnie's pulling your case-files. Any old bust who's just got out of prison, just got back in town -- "

"Yeah." He crumpled up his empty coffee cup in a sudden, angry gesture at odds with his flat voice. He left it lying on the table in front of him. "Look, guys, I'll go through the case-files with you later. I wanna nail these bastards, but right now -- right now I really want to get back to the hospital."

Hutch nodded.

"We'll call you at County if anything comes up."

"Thanks, guys."

He left a deafening silence in the room behind him.

Hutch turned to Starsky, met his eye.

"You think IA's going to be all over him?" he said quietly.

Starsky scowled.

"It's not a crime to live with another man. Hell, for all we know, they are just -- " His voice died away.

Hutch gathered together the files spread out on the desk in front of them.

"I just hope this turns out to be a cut-and-dried case, that's all. Hope we don't have to do too much digging into his life."

That evening they were at Starsky's, and it was Hutch's turn to cook. Starsky sat down on the sofa with a book about Machu Picchu, and Hutch started peeling potatoes. The day had ended with a rather unsettling visit to County Hospital, and the details kept going round and round in his mind.

They'd visited Franklin's workplace first, without result, and then spent the afternoon going over case files with Ike Kovar's partner Luis Ortega. So much for possible motives. The other main task of the day was obviously to go talk to Franklin's doctor at County, and get the lowdown on his injuries, and maybe some idea of when he might be able to give a statement.

Starsky had made one determined attempt to send Hutch off elsewhere while he visited the hospital alone. Hutch had quashed that idea right away.

It wasn't quite as bad as Hutch had expected. He stood next to Starsky -- living, breathing Starsky -- and let the doctor's words wash over him, knowing Starsky was listening. _Stab wound, head injury, coma..._ Hutch stared at the blinking lights and screens around Franklin's bed, and could hardly believe it was now over a year since he'd last stood here, feeling like it was his own life about to end.

"Thanks, doc," Starsky was saying. "Give us a call as soon as we can talk to him, will you?"

He shook the doctor's hand, and Hutch did too, and let Starsky guide him out of the room.

Kovar was sitting in the waiting room when they came out of Franklin's room. He stood up quickly when he saw them.

"What did the doctor say?"

A nasty cold feeling settled in Hutch's chest. Beside him, Starsky stiffened too.

"They're not telling you anything?" he asked.

Kovar shrugged.

"Family only."

Hutch felt his stomach clench. It occurred to him just how lucky he and Starsky were. Not that Starsky was his family either, but they'd always managed to play the police partners card in the past.

"Last night I flashed my badge and managed to get some info," Kovar said. "But since the change of shift it's a no-go."

"He's stable, Ike," Starsky reassured him. "That's what they're saying. They stitched up his stomach just fine -- no infection or nothing."

"But his head -- " Kovar said.

"All they can do is wait, now, they say," Hutch said quietly.

"Yeah. Yeah. Thanks."

Kovar had been staring at the floor, his eyes blank. Now he glanced at them, something stirring in his eyes. He had to be wondering what they were thinking. What they were speculating about him and Harry Franklin.

Starsky gave him a pat on the arm.

"You should go home, get some sleep, Ike."

"Yeah," said Kovar, but Hutch knew he wouldn't.

He knew what it felt like. It felt like if you left, that would be just when he woke -- or that was what that part of you that still had hope was thinking. Most of you was thinking that that would be just when he slipped away. That, in some illogical way, your leaving would be what triggered his death.

The atmosphere had been subdued in the car on the way home. Now, Hutch finished the last of the potatoes, put them on to boil and came out of the kitchen to sit with Starsky on the couch.

"Did you know they had incredible engineering techniques?" Starsky said. "Built the whole place to withstand earthquakes. Better than half the buildings in this city, probably."

"Who?"

"The Incas, dummy." 

He held up the book. Hutch took the opportunity to swing his legs up over Starsky's lap. Starsky made a disgruntled noise, but he started gently stroking Hutch's leg all the same. Hutch lay back against the arm of the couch and closed his eyes. He could still hear Starsky turning pages with his free hand, and figured Starsky had found somewhere else to prop his book. From the kitchen he could hear simmering water. He'd better not leave the potatoes on too long.

"You reckon Ike's still at the hospital?" Starsky said quietly.

"Yes," Hutch said. He didn't have a doubt.

Starsky's hand tightened on Hutch's leg.

"You know, there's such a thing as power of attorney," he said.

Hutch looked up. "Hmm?"

"I mean, if Ike had a medical power of attorney for Harry Franklin, the doctors would have a much harder time brushing him off. Plus, if there are any -- medical decisions to make -- " He paused. "You know, one day we might find ourselves in the same situation."

Hutch nodded.

"I thought about it when you -- last year. But your mother was there, anyway."

"Yeah, but maybe sometime in the future..." Starsky began, but didn't finish the sentence.

"We can go see a lawyer if you want."

"Yeah, I do want."

Starsky sounded thoughtful. Hutch swung his legs down, and stood up.

"Okay, then let's do it," he said, before going to take the potatoes off the boil.

.. .. ..

_Chapter 7_

Within two days it was all over the station that Ike Kovar was gay.

He was back at work by then, on desk duty. He was keeping his head down, but that didn't spare him the whispers and mutters. No teasing, though. The jokes stopped dead when there was a hint they might be true.

His partner Ortega wasn't saying anything, either, just growling at anyone who tried to sound him out on the subject. But Starsky was pleased to see there seemed to be no signs of him demanding an immediate change of partner.

In the face of Ortega's silence, Starsky quickly discovered that he and Hutch were seen as the next best source of gossip.

"Your case, isn't it?" Riviera said, catching Starsky in the hall. "You been out to their little love nest yet?"

"If you mean the victim's home, then no, of course not," Starsky said coldly. "He's still in a coma in the hospital."

"Well, it's not just his house, is it? It's Ike's house too."

Starsky nodded, and kept walking.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Come on, Starsky, give me something. We're all dying of curiosity."

Starsky stopped then, and turned to face him, feeling his face harden.

"Never had you pegged for the morbid type, Riviera. Like to stand around and gape at car crashes too, do you?"

Riviera was so surprised he took a step back.

"What?"

Starsky gave him the dirtiest look he could.

"I don't particularly enjoy watching a good cop's career go down the drain. Can't speak for you, of course."

Before Riviera could say anything else, Starsky had turned away and pushed through the squadroom doors.

Maybe it wasn't really wise to come out so strongly in support of Kovar, but there was no way he was going to keep his mouth shut against the likes of Riviera.

He sat down at his desk, staring down at the file he'd gone to fetch but not really seeing it. The truth was, he was relieved they hadn't had to go out to Kovar and Franklin's house.

He'd identified the exact reason why, and it was fear. Hustlers and men's hotels and sleazy bars was one thing, but he didn't want to see Kovar and Franklin's nice, normal house. Didn't want to see their garage and garden, maybe a motor Kovar was working on or a patio Franklin had laid.

It would make everything seem too real, too possible. Give him a tiny grain of hope that he and Hutch could live like that someday too. And he knew they couldn't. Didn't even want to, did they? They wanted marriages they could share with the world, and kids, and a happy ever after.

Hutch wasn't at the station that day -- he was giving evidence in the O'Connell case, one he'd dealt with while Starsky was still in recovery. They'd agreed to meet at Starsky's place that night, and when Starsky got home he found Hutch already there, in the middle of getting dinner.

"So, how'd you get on all on your lonesome this morning?" Hutch asked, grinning at him. "Things falling apart down the station without me?"

"Everyone's talking about Ike Kovar," Starsky said.

Hutch's smile disappeared.

"Oh."

"Yeah." 

Mechanically, Starsky started laying the table.

"We're out of soda," he said, after looking in the fridge. 

Hutch was nearest to the sink. He got out a jug and started to fill it with water.

Once they were both seated, Starsky said, thinking about their earlier conversation: "It's like I'm seeing us from the outside for the first time."

"And you don't like what you see?" Hutch said in a neutral tone.

"I didn't say that." Starsky glared at him. "But it's pretty damn clear nobody else likes it."

.. .. ..

Starsky woke up the next morning to the sound of the alarm ringing shrilly. Beside him, Hutch groaned and rolled out of bed. Starsky heard him stumble into the bathroom, and then the shower start up. He lay there for a minute, Hutch's warmth still in the bed beside him, and realized they'd been doing this for three months now. Longer than he'd ever been with anyone else. Longer than Hutch had been, if you didn't count Vanessa, which Starsky never did.

He shouldn't really be surprised. Three months was nothing. Him and Hutch had always been counting in years.

He got up, pulled on a pair of sweatpants and went into the kitchen. They were at his place, which meant they had a toaster. He set out milk, toast and a banana for Hutch, who reappeared soon after in his suit, still fixing his tie. No time for a run this morning -- he was due in court in half an hour.

Hutch downed the milk, gulped down a piece of toast and stuck the banana in his pocket. He picked up his car keys from Starsky's junk bowl -- he'd come in his own car last night.

"My place tonight?" he said. "I've run out of clean shirts."

"Run out of _my_ clean shirts, more like," Starsky said. 

Hutch shrugged. "You're not in court, you don't need them."

Starsky stuck his tongue out. "You better do all my ironing next week, that's all."

He was still sitting at the kitchen table, and Hutch bent down to kiss him good-bye.

"See you this evening, Starsk."

Starsky spent the day with Ortega, running down Ike Kovar's old enemies. Ortega was a youngish guy who didn't talk much. He laughed at Starsky's jokes, if they were funny enough, but never made any of his own. Ike had never been much of a talker either, and Starsky wondered what it must have been like inside their squad car. Quieter than a library, probably.

Ortega was a good cop, and he had a nose for crime the like of which Starsky had never seen. It was combined with a grim determination that Starsky thought was maybe specific to this particular case.

"You really wanna nail these guys, don't you?" he said, after they'd come out of the third bar that morning, 

"Harry's a good friend of mine," Ortega said. "And Ike's my partner."

"You know Harry Franklin?" Starsky echoed, his voice coming out more surprised than he'd intended.

Ortega turned his head to look straight at Starsky, his gaze challenging.

"Sure I know him. Almost as long as I know Ike."

"Oh."

Ortega turned back to the next entry on the list they'd made that morning.

"Next stop, The Green Tomato."

Starsky and Ortega hit up three more addresses that day, without success. Hutch's case dragged on into the next day, and the next. On the third afternoon, Starsky and Ortega finally threw up a lead that looked so promising, they headed straight back to the station to get the paperwork in order for an arrest warrant.

Hutch was at his desk in the squadroom, still dressed in his court suit.

"Slacking off?" Starsky said.

"Case closed."

He was grinning that grin like the cat that got the cream. Starsky didn't need to ask how the judgement went, but he did anyway, just to give Hutch the satisfaction of answering.

"They're throwing away the key," Hutch said with relish. He glanced at Ortega, who'd just come up behind Starsky. "What's new on Harry Franklin, guys?"

Ortega's face lit up with a grin that had all the relish of Hutch's a few seconds earlier.

"We got a lead on one of Ike's old busts. Case goes back almost fifteen years, and the guy just got out."

"And it was Ike who put him away for that long?"

Starsky nodded.

"It was his testimony at the trial that did it."

On the way across the parking lot later that afternoon, Starsky and Hutch met Ike Kovar hurrying to his car. He hadn't been around the station much recently. Starsky knew he was now under investigation by IA, though he wasn't suspended.

"Got a minute?" Starsky asked.

Kovar stopped, reluctantly. 

"What?"

"I thought you'd want to know we've got a lead. Remember Bigboy Charlie Martin?"

"Of course."

"He got out about four weeks ago on parole, and he's still in town. And boasting about how he's enjoying being able to take care of business now he's free."

Kovar's expression darkened.

"Where is he?"

Starsky held up his hand.

"Hey, whoa. When we find him, we'll bring him in, but you gotta stay well clear of him, or you'll mess up the case."

Kovar took a deep breath. "Yeah, I know."

"So, we don't know where he is," Starsky went on, "but we got a tip he'll be at a dog-race at Rondo Beach tomorrow afternoon. We'll get him, don't you worry about it. Ortega's gone to the DA for a warrant in case we need it."

Kovar nodded. "Thanks, guys."

"You on the way to the hospital?" Hutch asked.

"Yeah."

"How's Franklin?"

Kovar grimaced.

"You know what it's like. I bet last year, when Starsky was shot -- " He stopped short, turning red, not looking at either of them. "I didn't mean to imply -- "

"Relax," said Hutch. "It's okay."

"Well, I meant to say, it's -- hard."

"Yeah, it is," said Hutch. "You just gotta -- never give up hope, okay?"

Starsky knew it must sound hollow to Kovar, as hollow as every word of encouragement or comfort that wasn't in his lover's own voice. 

All the same, Kovar nodded.

"Thanks, Hutch."

Ike turned away to unlock his car. Starsky and Hutch crossed the parking lot to the Torino, parked next to Hutch's LTD.

Starsky hated to think of what Hutch had gone through last year. He'd been in that situation a few times, but never quite so close to the bone.

Now, he threw his arm around Hutch's shoulders and squeezed.

"Okay, buddy?"

Hutch smiled at him.

"Yeah, Starsk."

.. .. ..

_Chapter 8_

Hutch was glad to be back on the streets with Starsky, now that his long court case was over. The two of them were juggling a handful of different investigations, overlapping with Ortega on the Harry Franklin affair. Early in the week they hit a big setback when Bigboy Charlie Martin turned out to have a watertight alibi for the night of the mugging -- he'd been running the roulette table at a casino until two in the morning. He was the kind of man who liked to take care of business personally, but if he had got some of his friends to take his place this time, Starsky and Hutch couldn't find even the slightest hint of proof. They took him in for questioning but were forced to let him go.

Things stayed quiet until Friday afternoon, when suddenly everything seemed to happen at once. 

It started soon after lunch on Friday. Starsky was sitting at his desk, his head bent over a sheet of typed paper. Hutch recognized it as the report on the Lox case that Dobey had sent back for corrections. Starsky had an enormous frown between his eyebrows, and he looked like he was ready to scrunch up the piece of paper and toss it in the trash. Hutch crept up on him and laid a hand on his shoulder, letting his thumb brush the back of Starsky's neck. He bent close to murmur in Starsky's ear.

"Wanna swap? I'll do that, you start typing up this morning's interview."

Starsky looked up.

"Really?"

Hutch nodded.

"You look like someone's gonna get murdered in a minute if you don't get a break."

He gave Starsky's shoulder a squeeze and a pat, then raised his head -- and caught Dobey's eye. Dobey was standing just two feet away, staring at them with his mouth half-open and a frown narrowing his eyes.

"Hutchinson -- " he began.

Hutch straightened up, his heart starting to hammer.

"Yes, sir?"

Dobey stood staring at the two of them. His gaze went from Starsky to Hutch and back again. Hutch's heart was racing. Then Dobey shook his head slowly, still frowning.

"Nothing."

He disappeared into his office.

Hutch turned slowly back to Starsky. 

_He knows,_ he thought at Starsky, and could see the same thought in Starsky's eyes.

Starsky raised his eyebrows. _What now?_

Hutch shrugged.

He sat slowly, mechanically pulling a sheet of paper towards him and scrolling it into the typewriter. Was he just being paranoid, or had he really seen what he thought he'd seen?

The idea had certainly been on Dobey's mind because of Ike Kovar.

What had given them away? What accumulation of small signals had they given off that added up to one big _we're fucking_ sign.

He'd never really expected this. He'd thought that if and when they ever betrayed themselves, it would be be in some moment of adrenaline. When they'd narrowly cheated death, when they were clinging to each other, when they desperately needed to touch.

Not standing in the middle of the squadroom on a dull-as-ditchwater day, talking about crime reports.

Hutch suddenly realized that he was sitting staring at the typewriter, and that Starsky was the one supposed to be typing.

"Here," he said, shoving the typewriter across the desk towards Starsky.

Starsky was still looking completely off balance. He shook himself, seemed to come to a resolution. He picked up the report file he'd been working on and passed it to Hutch.

By a mutual, unspoken resolution, they settled down to work as normal.

About an hour later, Dobey stuck his head out his office door.

"Starsky, Hutchinson, in my office now."

They exchanged glances, and then scrambled to obey. Hutch was wary, wondering what this could be about. But Dobey looked happier than he had in quite a while.

"Franklin's awake. And he remembers everything. Says he can give a complete description of his attackers."

Hutch was already on the way back out the door.

"Let's get over there now."

.. .. ..

With Franklin's testimony, everything became very easy indeed. His main assailant turned out to be an old bust of Kovar's named Sebastian Lambeth, who'd gotten out of jail almost six months ago. He'd spent a lot of that time spying on Kovar, and by extension on Franklin, until he'd figured out that by far the best way to hurt Ike Kovar was to hurt Harry Franklin.

Kovar himself, meanwhile, was taking early retirement.

Hutch met him one evening in the men's room, while they were both washing their hands.

"Hey, Ike," he said. "I hear you're hanging up your holster. I'll be sorry to see you go."

He was pretty sure Kovar was being forced out, and not leaving voluntarily, but he had no intention of bringing that up.

"Yeah, thanks, Hutch."

Hutch hesitated. "Are you, uh, you glad to be retiring?" he asked finally, despite his good resolution of just a few seconds ago.

Kovar had been drying his hands. He turned back to Hutch now, and gave him an odd look, but answered readily enough.

"Yeah, I guess. I, ah... " He shrugged. "I didn't plan on leaving so soon, but I got other stuff on my mind right now."

For a moment, Hutch wondered what he meant. But he only had to put himself back in Ike's shoes to understand. If, this time last year, he'd been told he had to leave the force he wouldn't have given a damn. Starsky was alive, and that was all he cared about.

"Listen, I'm really glad Franklin pulled through," he said sincerely.

Kovar nodded. 

"Thanks, Hutch."

"How long -- have long have you know him?"

Kovar looked like he didn't know quite why Hutch was asking, but answered all the same.

"About thirty years."

Thirty years, Hutch thought. Thirty years together. He wanted to be able to say that about Starsky someday.

He realized that Kovar was still giving him a wary look.

"Well, tell him I said get better soon."

.. .. ..

Hutch broke things off with Joyce the next time he saw her.

They had been on a couple more dates since the first one, once alone and once with Starsky and a girl from the Federal District Court. The second date had been a jazz concert, and the third a picnic in the park. Joyce had seemed to have a good time on both occasions, and Hutch knew he had -- but that was all there was to it.

Joyce didn't seem particularly surprised when, during their fourth date, Hutch said he thought they probably shouldn't see each other any more.

They were at an art exhibition at the County Museum, standing in front of something huge and modern in plexiglas and papier mache.

"Yeah, I was thinking the same thing," Joyce said, nodding.

"Oh. Okay."

She gave him a small smile, tinged with regret. "Yeah." She looked down at the brochure in her hand. "Come on. Let's take a look at the new Japanese exhibition."

They spent the next hour looking at ink paintings, and occasionally exchanging comments in hushed voices about the exhibits. It didn't feel awkward, though, and afterwards they had a quick bite to eat together in the museum café.

"Can I ask you something, Ken?" Joyce asked later, as they walked back out to the parking lot.

"Go ahead."

"This is a bit rude of me, but I've been wondering... Did you have a bad breakup recently?"

His eyes widened.

"I always got this feeling you were still pining over someone else," she added in explanation.

Hutch felt horrible. That was no way to treat a woman. They hadn't made any mention of exclusivity, and Hutch knew she'd been dating other men too, but that didn't excuse her feeling she'd ever had anything less than his full attention while they were spending time together.

"Joyce, I'm sorry. I -- "

She cut across him. "No, it's okay, really. Like I said, I'd been wondering if I shouldn't break things off with you myself."

"Oh?"

She gave him a soft smile.

"I get the feeling you're the marrying kind, Ken. And I'm not really sure I want to get into that again just now."

He smiled back.

"So no hard feelings?"

She took his hand and gave it a squeeze. "I hope you find what you're looking for, Ken."

"You know, I think I will."

.. .. ..

_Chapter 9_

Starsky hurried up the steps to Hutch's place, carrying a bag of groceries. He let himself in the front door, whistling under his breath.

"Hey, Hutch, wanna know who's gonna win the World Series this year?"

Hutch was sitting at the table, writing. He'd said something about a birthday card for his aunt before Starsky went out to the grocery store. He looked up.

"We don't even know who's going to be playing yet."

"Yeah, but they can do it all on computer now. Predict the outcome of every game from here till October, based on batting averages and all that. I read it in a magazine at the laundromat."

Hutch looked doubtful. "That seems unlikely."

"I'm telling you, there was an article all about it!"

"Well, it'd be good news for Vice, at least," Hutch said, still sounding unconvinced. "Every bookmaker and tipster in the country would go out of business."

Starsky went over to the kitchen corner and started putting the groceries away. "They didn't have any of that wheat germ stuff," he said over his shoulder. "The girl said it'll be in on Monday."

Hutch grunted in acknowledgement, still writing.

"It was Melinda. You know, the one with the curls. And she wanted to know where my 'good-looking blond friend was'. Said you should drop in and see her sometime."

"Uh-huh?" Hutch was flipping through his address book now, and only seemed to be listening with one ear.

"Bet she'd go to the barbecue with you if you asked her," Starsky suggested. The annual police barbecue was in just over two weeks' time.

At that, Hutch looked up.

"I'm not bringing anyone."

"No? So Joyce -- ?"

"Yeah, we broke it off.

Starsky thought about that for a moment.

"Then I'm not bringing anyone either," he announced.

Hutch frowned.

"You don't have to -- I mean, just because I'm not doesn't mean you can't."

"Yeah, I know. But I don't wanna."

Starsky turned back to the cupboard where he'd been putting away cans of beans. After a moment he heard Hutch come up behind him, and felt a hand in his hair. Hutch tugged, and Starsky's head went back, so that he could see Hutch up very close, his eyes soft and a smile on his lips.

He leaned in to kiss Starsky's jaw, and Starsky turned his head to meet the kiss with one of his own.

After a long slow kiss, Starsky stepped back, shooting Hutch a grin.

"So, who's your guess for the World Series?"

.. .. ..

Starsky polished off his fourth beef rib of the day, and licked his fingers free of BBQ sauce.

"Watch your elbows, Starsky," grumbled Morrison, who was sitting right next to him at the folding picnic table. Five cops were squeezed onto the bench, and there wasn't much room. Peaceably, Starsky tucked his elbows further in. 

He felt a tap on the shoulder, and a voice in his ear said, "Hey, move over, Starsky." It was Babcock, who'd come up behind him.

"I'm gonna go get another drink anyway," Starsky said, getting up off the bench and leaving his place for Babcock.

A blinding sun shone down on the field where the 9th precinct held its annual barbecue. Picnic tables and blankets were scattered around the grass, cops and their families enjoying the August heatwave. It was 90 degrees in the shade, and Starsky was feeling the need for another nice cold beer.

Hutch was on duty at the grill. Starsky could see him arguing with his fellow cooks again. He was too far away to tell if this time it was about meat temperature, or how much to salt, or something else. 

_Poor Hutch, always has to be right,_ he thought with a grin, and kept moving, heading for the ice buckets. On the way across the field he met Dobey, who was carrying a plate of chicken wings in one hand, and clutching glasses of soft drinks for the kids in the other.

"Want a hand, cap'n?" Starsky said, relieving him of the glasses.

"Thanks, Starsky."

"Where are you sitting?" Starsky asked, looking round. He quickly spotted Rosie Dobey doing cartwheels next to the picnic table where her mother sat.

"Rosie tell you about her gymnastics medal yet?" Dobey asked as they set off across the field.

Starsky chuckled.

"Only about five times."

They stopped walking to let a bunch of children go racing past. Starsky couldn't tell what the game was, but it looked like a complicated version of tag.

When Dobey spoke next, it was in a very different tone of voice.

"Listen, Starsky, there's something I've been meaning to say to you."

"Oh?"

"It's about Isaac Kovar. You know, he was one of my best men."

"I know that, cap'n."

Dobey looked straight at Starsky.

"If he'd wanted to try staying on the force right up until retirement age, I would have supported him all the way."

Starsky stared. "Uh..."

"Thought you might want to know that. And you can tell Hutchinson I said so, too."

Before Starsky could muster up some sort of reply, Rosie came running up to them.

"Detective Starsky! Detective Starsky! Look at my cartwheels!"

Starsky ended up watching Rosie's entire gymnastics routine, calling out "One hundred points!" every time she did anything particularly impressive.

"It's out of ten, silly!" she shouted.

Starsky spread his hands wide. "What can I say? You go right off the scale, kiddo."

Mrs. Dobey called Rosie over to eat her chicken wings, and she cartwheeled off to join the rest of her family. Starsky looked around and spotted Hutch in the middle of a soccer game with Leroy Jackson and some of the older children. He went over to cheer them on. After the game broke up Hutch came to join him on the sidelines.

"So, you got there in time for our victory?" he said, taking the beer Starsky handed him.

"Oh, you won?" Starsky said innocently. "Guess I was looking the other way." 

He had to laugh at Hutch's disgusted expression.

The party went on all afternoon and evening, and the sun was getting low in the sky by the time Starsky and Hutch started to make their way through the cars parked on the edge of the field, on the way to the Torino.

It occurred to Starsky now that no one had commented on their lack of dates. This morning, it had seemed like a big thing to him, but then he'd forgotten. He was about to say something on the subject to Hutch when he spotted Luis Ortega waving to catch their attention.

"Ike is having a party at his place this weekend," Ortega said as soon as he'd come up to them. "Harry's out of hospital, and back on his feet--"

"That's great news," Hutch said.

Ortega nodded.

"Yeah. Well, this party's sort of a retirement do for both of them. Ike wasn't going to invite anyone from the precinct at first, but -- he'd be really happy if some people were there." He gave them a wary look. "Bob Cole is going, and maybe Simmons, but if you guys wanna come along too..."

Starsky glanced at Hutch, who nodded.

"Sure," he said. "Sounds cool."

Ortega relaxed.

"Great," he said. "Then see you there."

He clapped them both on the shoulder, and headed for his own car.

.. .. ..

Kovar and Franklin's place out in Huntsville turned out to be a wood-shingle bungalow on a quiet street, with a large, well-tended garden out back. They had a wooden deck too, just like Starsky had imagined.

When Starsky and Hutch got there, Kovar was starting up the grill. It was barbecue season.

"Burgers or spare ribs?" he called out to them in greeting.

They both went for burgers. Hutch held up the crate of beer they'd brought, and Kovar directed him through the back door to the kitchen fridge.

Ortega's wife Mia was sitting on the deck, mixing salad dressing. Ortega himself was out on the lawn keeping an eye on his son, who was toddling around investigating the shrubbery with the avid curiosity that only the under-fives have. A group of five or six men stood at the end of the garden, inspecting what looked like a half-built woodshed, and all giving their opinion on building techniques at the same time. Starsky could see Harry Franklin, and a guy from the precinct: Bob Cole, who'd been on the BCPD track team with Ike twenty or thirty years back. He didn't recognize the rest of them. Were they from Franklin's office? He doubted Franklin was out to his colleagues.

Starsky climbed onto the deck to say hello to Mia. He'd only met her a few times in passing, and now she gave him a friendly smile.

"So which one are you, Hutch or Starsky?"

"Well," Starsky said consideringly, "Hutch is the blond, and Starsky's the good-looking one."

She laughed.

"Want to help me with the coleslaw, Starsky?"

There was a big bowl of shredded cabbage, a bottle of mayonnaise and a bottle of vinegar waiting on the table. Starsky set to work.

"How old is Alex now?" he asked, watching the little boy make a sudden dash across the garden with Ortega in hot pursuit.

"Just turned three."

"Wow." Starsky shook his head. "I remember Luis showing us the baby photos like it was yesterday."

"Tell me about it! He grows so fast."

The deck was starting to fill up with people now. Starsky got up to shake hands with Harry Franklin, who'd just come back up from the garden. Until today Starsky had only seen him in a hospital bed, once unconscious and once to give his statement. He was surprised to find that when Franklin was up and about he was a talkative, wise-cracking kind of guy, the opposite of Ike Kovar.

"You the guy who drives the Gran Torino?" Franklin asked.

"Yeah, that's me."

Franklin whistled. "Nice."

"Why, what do you drive?"

"A Pinto," he said, making a face. Seeing Starsky's surprise, he added, "Well, it was a muscle car or a Harley, and I went for the Harley."

Starsky laughed. "Fair enough."

"Grub's ready," Kovar called from the grill. Everyone started to flow in that direction.

Burger in one hand and beer in the other, Starsky wandered out into the garden, and quickly found himself drawn into a dispute between Bob Cole and Luis Ortega about the finer points of the NFL strike.

"So if a player plays out his option," Bob Cole was saying, "And he joins another club -- then the old club gets its pick of replacements. Which obviously no club wants, so the guy is stuck. You can't tell me that's right."

Ortega rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, but it hardly ever really happens that way. Anyway, it's the NFL commissioner who decides. Right, Starsky?"

"Right," Starsky said.

Ortega's kid was toddling around the lawn after a bunch of other, slightly older children -- Starsky hadn't figured out yet who they belonged to. Ortega was keeping an eye on them and he turned to watch them as they ran across the garden.

"Anyway, it's all about money," he said over his shoulder. "Not this 'player mobility' business. They just want a pay rise."

"Well, who wouldn't?" said Starsky.

"They're all driving Lincolns and Porsches, man! They already earn three or four times as much as the average working man. They have the right to strike, unlike some of us, and they're wasting it on this stuff?"

Cole groaned.

"Don't start with that Police Association stuff again."

"People fought hard for the right to strike, you know, and -- " He broke off, and raised his voice. "Alex, that's not yours." 

The little boy was a few feet away with a girl the same height as him, both of them tussling over a teddy bear. 

Ortega raised his voice a notch higher. "Alejandro! Dejalo! Ven aqui!"

Alex dropped the bear's paw and gave his father a guilty look. The girl scurried away, clutching her teddy to her chest, and Alex's face crumpled up, threatening tears. Ortega went to pick him up, scolding and comforting him at the same time.

"You want another beer, man?" Cole asked Starsky. "I've got Miller in the fridge."

"Sure, thanks."

Cole wandered off into the house. Starsky looked around and saw Hutch sitting on the edge of the deck, which was raised up from the lawn so that it made a natural seat. Kovar was sitting next to him, and Franklin and some other guy had taken over at the grill.

Starsky went over to join Hutch and Kovar.

"Charwood is best," Hutch was saying. "Some of those briquettes give off a horrible smell, gets into all the meat."

"Don't let this man near the grill, whatever you do," Starsky said to Kovar. "He turns into a crazy dictator. It's like someone flipped a switch in his head."

Hutch got his pissy face on.

"I do not."

Starsky grinned at him, unrepentant.

Later in the afternoon, Starsky was sitting at the patio table, ladling coleslaw onto his plate, when Franklin took the seat beside him.

"Ike told me you were in hospital for a long time last year," Franklin said, helping himself to coleslaw too.

Starsky nodded. "That was..." He realized he'd stopped counting. "Maybe thirteen, fourteen months ago now."

"You'd never think it, looking at you."

Starsky let out a tiny, humorless laugh.

"Took me a long time to get this far. There were days when I didn't think I'd ever get back on the streets again."

"Physical therapy?"

"Yeah."

"Not fun."

Something in the way he said it made it obvious to Starsky that he was speaking from personal experience.

"They just got you started on it, huh?"

Franklin nodded. "The worst of it is, I never seem to be getting anywhere, never making any progress." He took a bite of his hamburger, and chewed thoughtfully for a while. "You know, I worked a desk job, but I kept in shape. Now, I can hardly walk half a mile."

"You'll get there," Starsky said with confidence. "It's just gonna take a lot longer than you thought it would. That's what I found out."

"Maybe. You're a good twenty years younger than I am, son."

Starsky tapped his head.

"It's not about age, it's about what's up here. I wasn't getting anywhere until I figured that out."

"Yeah?"

Starsky nodded. 

"Definitely."

"Uh huh," Franklin said, looking thoughtful. "Maybe so."

Franklin was called away just then to get more charcoal for the grill. Starsky got to his feet too, and Hutch appeared at his elbow, carrying two hot-dogs. He handed one over to Starsky.

Starsky beamed at him. "Thanks, partner."

They sat down together on the edge of the lawn to eat. It was late afternoon, the air temperature wasn't too hot to be comfortable, and the hot dog was delicious. Starsky hummed to himself under his breath, feeling pretty happy with the world.

"Don't let me leave without a clipping of the gardenia," said Hutch, stealing some of Starsky's coleslaw.

"What's that?"

Hutch pointed at a bush with white flowers on the far side of the garden.

"They don't grow very well indoors, but I'm going to give it a shot. Ike says there are gardening shears in the garage."

People were scattered across the lawn, standing or sitting on garden chairs. The children were playing some sort of cross between football and tag. Franklin had gotten his Harley-Davidson out of the garage, and a bunch of men were standing around admiring it. Franklin himself was talking non-stop, the center of attention, clearly very proud of his re-tuned motorbike. Starsky spotted Kovar a few yards away, watching Franklin with a look of amusement on his face and an unmistakeable affection.

Ortega came out onto the deck just then, carrying orange juice in a child-proof cup.

"Retirement looks kinda appealing, doesn't it?" Starsky said, nodding at Franklin's motorbike. "I never seem to have time to do anything I want."

"You've still got a little way to go yet, Starsky," Hutch said with a laugh. "Twenty years at least."

Ortega was standing looking out at Kovar.

"I'm gonna miss working with Ike," he said quietly.

"We all are," Hutch said.

Ortega nodded, still looking out at the group of men gathered around the motorcycle.

"You know, the Police Association would have supported him if he'd tried to stay."

Starsky raised his eyebrows and looked sideways at Ortega, wondering if that statement was just what it seemed on the surface.

"His choice, of course," Ortega added. "Nobody else's business but his. Still, I wish he'd fought." He shrugged, and looked around. "You seen Mia and Alex?"

"Out front, to look at the neighbor's coconut tree."

"Thanks." 

He disappeared back into the house again.

Starsky exchanged glances with Hutch. Hutch raised his eyebrows. Starsky shrugged, not quite sure if Ortega had been trying to tell them something or not.

.. .. ..

It was late evening by the time they got home again, happily tired after a great day in the sun.

Starsky switched on the TV, but left it on mute, and curled up into Hutch's side on the couch.

"We're a couple of cowards, you know that, Hutch?" he said. 

Hutch looked at him in surprise. "What?"

"I mean, still pretending we'll have the wife and kids and so on, and signing power of attorney papers at the same time."

Hutch swallowed. "Yeah."

"I wanna spend the rest of my life with you, Hutch."

Hutch's gaze softened. 

"That would be fine by me," he said quietly.

He turned his body towards Starsky, and Starsky slid his hand into his hair and pulled him close for a kiss. They stayed like that for a long time, kissing softly.

"You think we're gonna be standing in Ike Kovar's shoes some day soon?" Starsky asked after some time. "At work, I mean."

Hutch hesitated.

"Maybe it will never come to that. Ike was on the force for 35 years, after all."

They lapsed into silence, until Starsky said suddenly, "I've been thinking."

"You have?" Hutch said with a smile.

"Think about it. What does the law say? That you can legally be fired for being gay. That's all."

Hutch tilted his head to one side, thinking about that for a while.

"There's some pressure on City Hall to have gay cops on the force," he said finally.

Starsky eyed him uncertainly. "You mean you think -- ?"

Hutch shook his head. "The DA would hate our guts. What jury would accept our testimony if we'd been splattered all over the front page...? Not to mention how most of the other guys at work would treat us."

"I'm not suggesting we take out a two-page advert," Starsky said. "But if someday it comes out... You think you can live with it?"

"I don't know, Starsk. We could give it a try." Hutch still had a hand on Starsky's thigh, and he started to move it now, stroking softly. "In any case, twice in the past two years I thought we were finished on the force. After Rigger, and after Gunther. So we got an extra year we didn't think we would. Maybe that's enough. Time to do something else."

.. .. ..

Starsky lifted his hand to rap on the apartment's front door -- not the same New York brownstone he'd spent the first ten years of his life it, but another only a few blocks away. Beside him, Hutch was juggling most of their luggage, so that Starsky could safely carry the huge bunch of flowers.

His mother opened the door a few seconds later.

"David!" she cried.

He was enveloped in an enormous hug. Hutch got a hug too, and then Mrs. Starsky was ushering them through the door.

"Come in, come in. I've just taken the casserole out of the oven."

"I told you we'd eat on the airplane, Ma," Starsky said, not with any real effort.

"Oh, as if you can call that plastic stuff real food!"

They followed her into the kitchen, where she poured them both glasses of water, and then filled a vase for the flowers.

"You boys go wash up before dinner," she said over her shoulder. "You must be starving after all that traveling."

Starsky's trip to see his mother was almost an annual event, the only years he didn't go being the ones she came out to California. Hutch had already accompanied him several times, and he knew where to find the guest bedroom and leave their bags.

Starsky went to the bathroom first, and then to the bedroom to dig out the presents he'd brought for his family. By the time he got back to the kitchen, Ma was mashing potatoes and Hutch was laying the table.

"On the East Coast you'd need a greenhouse, I think," he was saying. "I've got it in the sunniest corner, and it's flourishing."

"Is this your orchid, Hutch?" Starsky asked, plonking himself down at the kitchen table.

Ma put a hotpad in the middle of the table for the pot of mashed potatoes.

"I hear you killed a hibiscus, David," she teased.

Starsky frowned. "I didn't know you were supposed to water it so often. The label got mixed up."

"With what, the label from a cactus plant?"

Ma and Hutch both burst out laughing, and Starsky scowled at them.

Over dinner they talked about Ma's work on the upcoming children's festival at the local community center.

"Have some more potatoes, Kenneth," she urged.

"You don't have to ask twice, Mrs. Starsky."

Starsky felt a warm, relaxed happiness settle over him, that indescribable feeling that came from being with the two people he loved most in the world.

They finally reached the point where neither he nor Hutch could possibly squeeze in another helping of food. Ma began to clear off the table, and Hutch jumped up.

"Let me, Mrs. Starsky."

Ma sat back down. Starsky stacked the dishes together and Hutch carried them over to the sink.

"Nicholas said he'll be here for dinner tomorrow," Ma said. "And his girlfriend Cynthia-- you remember Cynthia?"

Starsky could picture a tall brunette, almost scarily well dressed, but with a kind smile. She'd worked in a fancy fashion boutique someplace in Manhattan. She and Nicky had already been together last time he was back East, almost two years ago. He didn't think he remembered his brother ever being in a relationship this long.

"I think it's serious," Ma said, echoing his thoughts. "So try to keep late October free, because I've been telling Nicholas how much trouble December weddings are, so close to Christmas. I've been dropping Cynthia a few hints too. She won't want to be wearing her wedding dress in the snow!"

"Okay, Ma."

"And what about you, David?"

"Hmm?"

"Well, you never tell me about your girlfriends any more. Even Kenneth clams up now when I ask him. I've been worrying about you -- after you got out of hospital, and it seems you're not dating anymore, and you're not getting any younger, you know..."

It was the perfect opening. Starsky swallowed.

"I don't think I'll be getting married, Ma."

"No?" she echoed blankly.

Starsky look over at Hutch, who was stacking dishes in the sink. He came back to the table for the glasses, met Starsky's eye and smiled. Starsky smiled back, something warm and strong building up inside of him. He turned back to his mother.

"I've got Hutch. That's it for me."

Ma just stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide, not quite understanding.

Starsky held his breath.

Ma looked at Hutch, and then back at Starsky again, and then she burst out crying.

Starsky's stomach plummeted, but then Ma was on her feet hugging him, hugging Hutch, hugging him again, kissing him, kissing Hutch. Hutch met Starsky's eye, and Starsky saw mirrored there his own relief and happiness. 

Ma began patting her pockets for a handkerchief, and Hutch offered her one.

"Thank you, Kenneth." Ma mopped at her eyes. "Oh, David. How many years have I been waiting for you to tell me that?"

Starsky could only stare at her.

"Well, it's, uh -- it's kind of a recent thing, Ma."

"Oh?" she said, looking surprised. She turned for confirmation to Hutch, who nodded.

"Dear me. I thought -- Dear me." She stared at both of them for a moment, and then exclaimed. "We should celebrate. But I only have an old sponge cake or a packet of Jell-O."

At that, Starsky just had to laugh.

"The sponge cake sounds fine, Ma," he said, but she was already on her feet, rummaging in the cupboards.

In the end, Starsky was sent out to the bakery down the street.

"You coming, Hutch?" he asked, throwing on his jacket.

"No, leave Kenneth here," Ma said. "I want to talk to him."

Starsky shot Hutch a nervous glance.

"What?"

"Go on, get a move on or the stores will all be shut."

Starsky left reluctantly. When he got back, though, Hutch and Ma were chatting peacefully, and Hutch wasn't showing any signs of having undergone a third-degree interrogation.

"They didn't have any cheesecake left, so I got chocolate," Starsky announced, putting the pink bakery box down on the table.

Ma had produced a bottle of sparkling wine from somewhere. She got three glasses from the cupboard, and set out forks and plates for the cake.

"To David and Kenneth," she said, raising her glass. "And a long and happy life together."

Starsky met Hutch's gaze. Hutch's eyes were all strange and soft.

"I'll drink to that," he said, raising his glass.

Starsky picked up the cake knife, and Ma pounced on him.

"No, no, David, give me that," she scolded. "I know you, you'll turn the whole thing into a pile of crumbs."

"I can cut cake, Ma," Starsky protested, though he knew it was in vain.

Ma doled out three big chunks of cake, and sat back down to eat her own.

"Now tell me about this concert, Kenneth. Did you really say the instruments were made of old trash?"

They sat there in Ma's kitchen, at the same old wooden table where Starsky had done his homework, and talked all evening.

That night they both slept on Hutch's mattress on the floor, since it was wider than the narrow bed.

Before they fell asleep, Starsky had a question he'd been burning to ask.

"What did Ma want to talk to you about?"

He heard Hutch chuckle in the darkness.

"Oh, the usual stuff."

"The usual stuff?" Starsky echoed.

He could see Hutch's teeth flash in the dark when he grinned.

"You do know she has a list of questions she asks every time she gets me on the phone, right? Are you eating right, and how are things at work. What did the physical therapist say on your last visit, and are you brushing your teeth after meals."

Starsky stared. "Am I brushing my teeth?" he repeated incredulously.

Hutch laughed. "Okay, I made that one up," he admitted. He rolled over onto his side, facing Starsky, and his voice turned softer, more serious. "She also wanted to know if I was serious about you."

Starsky already knew the answer to that one.

"I hope you told her she didn't need to worry."

In answer he got a kiss. Starsky threw an arm over Hutch's chest and pulled him closer. They stayed like that for a long time before they drifted off to sleep together.


End file.
